Pookamon II - Defenders of the Free World
by LemurKat
Summary: Giovanni plans to destroy the Island Haven - can Brooke, Cassandra and freinds survive?
1. Default Chapter

"Look at that!" The Vaporeon girl exclaimed, pointing at the ceiling. "It looks just like a happy little Eevee dancing in the sunlight." She was lying on her back on her bed, with her head at the tail end and her tail draped over the headboard. Outside rain pattered merrily against the window.

The Sandshrew-morph on the other bed sighed and placed her book spine up in her lap. It was plain that she was not going to get any reading done here. When Brooke wanted to talk, Brooke would talk, regardless of anyone whom might be around. And what they might be doing. It had been raining here for the better part of the last week, and to be completely frank, it was no wonder the Vaporeon was bored. At least Cassandra had her books, but Brooke could not read more than the few words she had been taught in school here. Cassandra stood up, tucking the somewhat battered copy of "Lord of the Rings" under her arm.

"I'm going for a walk," she said.

Brooke grinned at her, upside-down, "okay then, bye bye!" She replied, happily enough, "I'll just like stay here and talk to my pot plant. She always wants to listen!"

Cassandra waved and departed, down the hallway outside their dormitory.

It had been several months now since the two girls had arrived in the Pookamon/Pokemorph Island Haven and they had been sharing a room ever since. The building they lived in was an absolutely enormous homestead known as Seaview, and if you peered outside the window you could see the wild waves whipping the wind beaten coastline. About three dozen morphs inhabitated these halls, being taught in the ways of reading, arithmetic, agriculture, cooking and all other necessary survival skills that they had never needed back in the isolated labs where they had been raised.

Unfortunately, the rain meant that everyone was inside, seeking entertainment, thus the quiet Sandshrew morph did not even entertain the thought of going to the main recreation room, choosing instead one of the conservatories. On a day such as this, the rain pattered noisily against the glass, drowning out your own thoughts, but it was a reassuring sound, a continuous sound and Cassandra thought she could easily cope.

There was someone else here, she noticed as soon as she entered. A Ninetails' morph by the look of it, staring blankly out the window across the rain-swept garden. He did not seem much of a distraction, but Cassandra felt as though she were intruding.

"You don't mind if I read in here, do you?" She asked tentatively. She still had trouble talking to strangers. Or anyone really, except of course Brooke.

The Ninetails turned to stare at her, as though he had been dragged kicking and screaming from a trance. He shrugged. "I don't care," he replied. His voice was deep, but seemed somewhat lost. He turned his attention back to the garden.

Feeling a little daunted, Cassandra curled up in the cane couch and once again found her place, continuing to read. After a while she forgot about the presence of the strange fox-man, until she heard the sound of sobbing.

Glancing upwards, she noticed that he had his pale hands over his face and was weeping quietly into them. Not wanting to appear nosy, nor wanting to draw attention to the fact that she was even there, Cassandra buried her nose in her book again.

After about ten minutes of this, her natural empathy and the fact that she was unable to concentrate was enough for her. She closed the book and took a deep breath.

"Hi," she said shyly, "my name's Cassandra."

The morph turned and stared at her as though he had forgotten she was there. And quite frankly, he probably had. He blinked his crystalline blue eyes. "Once I was called Saffire," he replied. "But now I am Nothing."

"Once?" The Sandshrew's curiosity got the better of her. "You remember from before the Change?"

He nodded, the crest of silver-white hair between his ears flopping dangerously to the side. "I wish I did not," he replied. "I have the most torturous memories sometimes." He shook his head sadly. He had long pale tresses with a hint of blue. 

"You had a Trainer?" She asked. "And he named you?"

"She," Nothing replied. "My Trainer was female. But I failed her and she was torn away from me, leaving me all alone. Did you ever have a Trainer?"

"I, I may have," Cassandra muttered, ashamed of her lack of memory for such things, "but I just can't remember."

The Ninetails smiled at her reassuringly. "Sometimes forgetting is the best remedy. So what is that you're reading?"

Cassandra waved the book at him. He took it from her and looked at it. 

"Lord of the Rings… hrm, I once tried to read that and found it amazingly boring. You know, my Trainer taught me to read? Try this instead." He reached into the pocket on his large trenchcoat and extracted a much loved paperback. It was entitled "Stardust". He handed it to her. "This is my favourite book of all time, I must have read it thirty times."

Cassandra accepted it and flicked through the pages. "Thank you," she replied, "um, can I borrow this?"

"Sure," he answered. "You are new around here, yes?"

"Relatively," she smiled. "I came over here with a Vaporeon called Brooke. You probably have heard of her."

It took a moment for recognition to dawn on his handsome face, and then he chuckled. "Oh yes, her, the strange one that dances with pot plants and light shades?"

"That's the one."

"She must be fun to live with." It was not a question, although it did reek a little of sarcasm.

"Oh yes, very much," Cassandra replied. "We're rooming together now.

The Ninetails looked a little embarrassed. "I didn't mean to imply there was anything wrong with her," he muttered.

Cassandra shrugged, "she's a lot more interesting then some of the people around here." But not you, she added to herself, admiring the silver-furred man's muscular form and sapphire blue eyes. He certainly was an attractive fox. She felt her cheeks burning from the inside at the thought. "Anyway, thanks for the book," she stuttered.

The fox who called himself Nothing smiled. It was a smile that never reached his eyes. He did not look used to smiling. "I hope you enjoy it," he said in his smooth, deep voice, "and maybe I shall see you around sometime." 

"Um," Cassandra muttered, "how am I to return your book to you?"

He looked startled, as though that particular side of things had not occurred to him. "Oh, I'm in here most days in the evening," he replied. "But no hurry."

She nodded and hurried away, clutching the well-loved book to her chest. Inwardly she cursed herself. Here she was, meeting this handsome man and she could not relate to him as well as she wanted to. She was too shy, too introverted. Perhaps she should take some listens from Brooke. One of the last things you could say about Brooke was that she was introverted!

*

"Would you like some water to drink, Mr Leafy?" Brooke was watering her pot plant, a huge fern that had claimed most of her small desk. Not that Brooke ever used her desk anyway, preferring to write with the book in her lap as she sat on her bed. Reading and Brooke were discovering some clash of ideas. She could not get the hang of it. Drawing was fine, and the walls were covered with Brooke's pictures of James, her Eevee Buttons, Mr Leafy, Cassandra, her teachers and a number of the other Pookamon and Pokemorphs in Seaview, but aside from writing her name clumsily in the corner of every picture, she had learnt nothing more. She looked up as Cassandra entered. "Mr Leafy is thirsty," she informed her, "and the milk has run away with slime."

"I'll get some more tomorrow," the Sandshrew replied absently. "Brooke, can I ask you a question?"

"Do unicorns fly?" Was her answer.

"Um, I don't know, do they?"

Brooke shrugged, "that's why I asked you. So, how can I , like, improve your facts?"

"I was wondering how you let a man know you like him."

The Vaporeon stared at her, her blue eyes burning as though there was a rage hidden in them. She flung her watering can against the wall. Cassandra jumped. She had certainly not expected this reaction.

"Never ever let man know you like him!" Brooke shouted, slamming her tail against the ground. "If man knows you like him, it like means he can take your heart in his big, strong hands and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until its broken and there's nothing but pain! No!" She fell forward onto the bed and began sobbing.

Cassandra was at loss. "I'm sorry," she whispered sadly, wishing she had know why such a simple question had upset her best friend so much. She reached forward and put her hand on Brooke's shoulder. Certainly, she knew the Vaporeon was prone to strange and sudden changes of emotion, but this was too much, too weird. 

Brooke turned her head and hissed at her. 

Hurt, Cassandra drew back and backed out of the room, "Stardust" beneath her arm. She could not stand it here.

Could not stand Brooke's pain.

But more than that, she hated Brooke being mad at her. Especially when she could not know why. As she was leaving, she caught sight of one of Brooke's pictures, a screwed up bundle in the rubbish bin behind the door. Something about it spoke to her, called to her. She glanced at Brooke, but the girl had her head buried in her pillow.

So she bent down and palmed it, stealing quietly from the room. Once outside, she unfolded it.

An angular face set with purple eyes gazed back at her. Between the eyes was a golden halo and a mop of crudely drawn black hair. It had been torn in half, so that one side of the head was severed from the other.

And she began to understand.

*

He was stalking through the grass when he heard the sounds of laughter, cruel mocking laughter, familiar laughter. His long Umbreon ears twitched and he scented the air, inhaling the familiar blend of human and Pokemon that represented his kin. Flattening his dark belly to the ground, he stalked towards the noise, cautious to stay downwind – not that these humans with their crude sense of smell could help to notice him anyhow. As he neared the commotion he saw what it was all about – a small morphic child was strapped to a tree, her clothing ripped from her delicate form. Before the feline child stood three men. From the bottles strewn around the ground, their behaviour and the rank odour in the air, he quickly came to the conclusion that they were drunk. They were pelting the child with stones, beer cans, even bottles.

Rage boiled in him. Such torture of innocence was more then he could take. Certainly, his previous employment had been full of blood, full of death, but nothing like this.

His killings had been swift, painless, merciful.

This was nothing short of torture.

Cloaking himself in darkness, he shape-shifted so that he stood there in full naked glory, the night surrounding him, caressing his muscles and short dark fur, He smiled grimly as his twilight eyes flared red.

"Hello there," he said, almost casually.

The men turned as one, and one gaped in amazement.

"Who?… What are you?" he asked.

Another man was not so startled. He immediately dove for the ground, his fingers clasping a bottle and in a smooth move he shattered it against a rock and lunged at the assassin.

But they were drunk and Azrael was a professional. Anything they did could be deflected by him with ease. As the man lunged, he smiled again, flashing his white canines.

"I am the Angel of Mercy," he replied, almost easily grasping the onrushing man's arm, the one that held the bottle upraised. The man stumbled as Azrael twisted his arm, the bottle tumbling from his flaccid fingers. He screamed as his arm was twisted up his spine. Azrael brought his knee up and up between the man's legs, with such force that he fell forward, dislocating his arm in the process.

With a scream of rage, the other two men charged him, one from each side. They had obviously imbided too much alcohol to realise that what they were up against would not be easily beaten.

Swinging his tail around, Azrael sent one of the men tumbling in the dirt, but the other man, showing surprising dexterity and skill given his state, managed to jump on the assassin's back. He could feel the sharp jab of broken glass against his neck fur. Bringing one hand up, the Umbreon grabbed the attacker by the hair and awoke the darkness in his mind.

Images flashed through his own mind – morphic children staring at him, their faces bleeding, bruised, the man playing with a human child, laughing, having fun. The screams of dying children, but they were not human. They were not human…

Pain seemed to cease at the assassin's heart. These people had not tortured one Pookamon, but many. Killing them, maiming them. Torturing them.

He had never tortured anyone.

Well, not really…

As the man fell backwards, clasping his head as his evil deeds were brought to the surface, as his own children were tortured, raped and murdered before him, Azrael turned around and kicked him in the groin. He then turned on the last remaining man, who was crawling through the grass, trying to drag himself upright against a stump. With barely any effort, he placed his foot against the man's upper back, pushing his face into the dirt. The man gagged as Azrael kicked him a couple of times for good measure.

Content that the men were out of action, Azrael investigated the injured child. It was a type of cat Pokemon he had never seen before. She appeared to be staring blankly into space. Her dark furred body was covered in bloody trails. He reached out and untied the ropes, letting her fall into his arms. She made no movement. He placed her on the ground and stared at her. She was staring at the ground. Reaching one black furred hand out, he put his fingers gently under her chin and rose it, to meet her eyes. She stared at him, unblinking. It was fazing.

"How do you feel?" He asked her.

She stared at him, or through him.

"Do you have a name?" Azrael was not one to give up easily.

For the longest moment, she stared at him. Then finally, in a monotone, she intoned; "Mystik."

"Mystik," Azrael replied, "well, that's a pretty name. I guess." The way she stared was unnerving, to say the least. She never even blinked. Not once. He placed her on the ground and planted his foot into the back of one of the fallen men. Almost causally, he ripped the man's jacket from his back and wrapped it around Mystik's shoulders. She made no movement to aid or stop him.

"Well there Mystik, I think we need to get you to somewhere warm," he informed her, lifting her up onto his hip. She looked no more than about eight years old, and was still staring aimlessly at nothing. He carried her to his temporary den, a hovel that had been long ago abandoned. Azrael had returned to his apartment for only two things – his knives and his pet Meowth. He could not bear to take anything more with him. The place held too much pain for him, memories of those who had deceived him, those whom he had served for years.

Cat greeted him by standing on her hindlegs and batting him with her head. He scratched her behind her ears. She purred warmly in gratitude.

The girl showed no recognition of the cat at all. Or of anything. He sat her down against the wall and set the fire. When he turned back to her, he saw that she was staring at a glowing purple ball of light, which she held in her pale furred hands.

Suddenly she spoke, in that same monotone, flat and devoid of emotion.

"They're all going to die," she said, "burning, screaming, all of them."

Azrael's attention was immediately grabbed. The girl called Mystik seemed to see something within the purple ball of dark energy.

"Who are?" He asked.

She continued speaking, but he knew not if she was replying to his question or continuing anyway.

"The people with the ears and fur and tails," she said, "the place on the water, fire…"

The assassin felt as though his heart had been gripped in icy talons. Could she be speaking of the Island Haven? Was Brooke in danger?

He sighed as he thought of her, his heart filled with remorse. Once they had been lovers, she who saw magic in everything and he who saw the darkness. So different, but so perfect. Things had been good. 

But then she had been taken from him, and the two of them were morphed. He had been told she was dead. Until he was sent to kill her.

He still felt the pain as he remembered pushing her from the tower, the feeling of the knife in his hands. He had been about to kill her.

Until she had shown him the truth.

It had, in honesty, almost slain him as surely as he would have slain her.

"Mystik," he said, not knowing if the child understood him. "I have to find out something out." But he could hardly leave her here alone, those creeps would pick her up again in no time, unless he killed them.

No, they did not deserve death. They deserved pain.

There was only one person he knew in this world who might help him. One person.

And he doubted they would be favourably inclined towards him. But he needed help – someone had to look after the child. Taking Mystik by the hand, he called Cat to his side, and departed. In search of someone who would want him dead.

"What the Hades do you want?" The young woman with red hair glared at him with burning green eyes.

The tall dark morph smiled awkwardly. "I am sorry to disturb you," he said formally, "but I have need of assistance."

"Well, why waste your time coming to us then?" Kataryna asked. "You tried to kill me last time you paid me a visit!"

"I promise I shall not attempt that this time."

"Yes, because you're leaving now, or I'll have my Pokemon escort you out!"

"Please!" Azrael's tone verged on despairing, something he would have avoided at all costs before. "I need help. I need you to look after someone for me." He reached out, grasping Mystik by the hand. Currently she was staring at a small Eevee. The Eevee was staring back at her. Both were locked, until Azrael dragged her away. He directed her to stand in front of him.

"This," he said, "is Mystik, now she has said that something bad is going to happen to the Island Haven. I wish to investigate. However, it is a little hard for me to investigate with a child tagging along. So I'd like to leave her with you." He paused, "please?"

"He's genuine," came a voice from behind Kataryna, and the young man appeared. On their previous meeting he had seen through the assassin's façade easily, and so his opinion was obviously trust-worthy.

Kataryna frowned. "Well, if you say so," she replied, still sounding doubtful. "You may leave the child with us. But you may not enter. And if you raise a hand against me again, I shall destroy you shamelessly."

Azrael rose his hands in surrender. "So be it," he replied, "I require only your assistance, not your friendship." He pushed Mystik towards them. "Her name is Mystik. She rarely talks and doesn't seem too in touch with reality either. I'll be back in a few days, if I'm not, I'm dead and you will have to look after her yourself."

He bowed his head. "Anyway, fare well, look after her," he turned and walked away. 

"Wait!" Came a voice from the side, and another man stepped around the corner. A familiar man. The Eevee immediately bounded towards him, rubbing around his feet like a cat.

Azrael turned. "What?"

"I'll come with you," the blue haired man stated.

"Eevee?" The Eevee asked.

"Why?" Azrael asked flatly. He remembered he had slewn this man once – or had thought himself responsible for his death. "I work better alone." 

James shrugged. "Because if what you say is true, the Island Haven is at risk, and if it is destroyed, everything we have striven for is lost, pointless. I must help. Even though the thought of doing so reviles me."

Azrael stared at him, his violet eyes glistening with well disguised gratitude. "I shall allow you to accompany me," he replied, "but I do some things better by myself. I am, after all, trained in the arts of silence and stealth."

"We must travel to the Team Rocket centre of activity," James said with a gulp, "and spy. Such a thing is frightening, but must be done."

The assassin nodded. "We must leave today."

*

The dark assassin and the blue-haired man crouched on the hilltop, staring at the great building that rested amongst the hills like some great slumbering beast. Azrael could not help but notice that James seemed to continuously be watching him, as though waiting for any sign of betrayal. Indeed, the assassin suspected that the only reason he had accompanied himself in the first place was because he did not trust the Umbreon to leave by himself, and not linger around, seeking harm on his friends. James crouched down, resting one hand on the head of the little Eevee.

Azrael sighed. He could understand why James had come, but not why the man had brought his pet along as well. All that could happen to the Eevee would be that it would die horribly, or worse, be captured and then Changed. It would at the least, be a risk and cause distraction to the both of them. Something they could ill afford.

"Allow me to do the subterfuge," Azrael prompted, "as I am surely better skilled at such things then you."

"So," James pondered, "you know all about alarm systems and how to override them then, do you?"

Azrael gave him a long look, with scorn on his face. "Of course I do," he replied, a touch of bitterness in his voice, "what do you think I am? An amateur?"

James actually looked embarrassed. "Sorry," he muttered, "but you don't look like a alarm system expert."

"I'm not," Azrael replied haughtily, "I use a different technique. You shall see!"

"Very well, do you wish me to accompany you?"

Azrael nodded. "Two pairs of eyes are better then one," he replied, "and I trust you know your way around and can move with some semblance of stealth?"

James nodded and scowled at him. "What do you take me for?"

"A human," Azrael glanced away.

The two of them made their way down the hill towards the high fence, adorned as it was with coils of razorwire. A sign hung from it, proclaiming it to be electrified.

"Now what?" James asked, putting his hands on his hips and looking at Azrael, waiting for the assassin to prove himself, Azrael suspected.

He smiled. "Well, we could climb it, but I would think that it just a little bit dangerous. So we wait. Follow me." 

Wrapping his black cloak about himself, Azrael stalked along the fence line. There was nothing on the other side but a few shrubs and the stark white walls of the laboratory. Nothing stirred. James hastily walked behind, but the Umbreon ignored him.

After a short while, they came into sight of a gate, and a guard booth. The gate was, naturally, shut and the guard at the booth was glancing about himself attentively.

Azrael snarled as James dragged him out of sight behind a shrub.

"Now what?" He queried.

"Now we wait," Azrael replied enigmatically, crouching down. Puzzled, the human followed his move.

And they waited.

The assassin was used to remaining in the same position for lengthy periods of time, and his legs made no protest, but after about ten minutes, he saw that James was ailing. The man was obviously not used to crouching and would likely move. Azrael had timed everything right, so that he could make his move – they had been watching the Laboratory for the last three days. Suddenly he heard an engine with his sensitive ears. He turned and nodded to James. The blue-haired man slipped out from beneath the shrub and straightened himself up as the car came up to them. It was a sports type car. Instantly, James stepped out partway into the road, putting his thumb up as if hitch-hiking. The car, naturally, did not stop, but it had to slow down to get around him, and suddenly Azrael sprang out from his cover and onto the bonnet, his long fingers grasping the edge of the bonnet. They were conveniently hidden from the guard booth by a winding road and a small plot of trees. The man slammed on his brakes, startled, but Azrael's grip was firm. His eyes blazed red for a moment as he used the powers of Darkness to bring the car into a halt halfway into the ditch. James hastened afterwards, clambering over the roof of the car to get to driver's side. The front window of the car suddenly shattered as the driver drew a gun and shot at Azrael. Almost at that instant, the Umbreon morphed so that as a target, he was somewhat smaller. Using the twilight to his advantage, he leapt from his tangled heap of clothing and vanished, reappearing in the man's lap, where he changed form again. Needless to say, it rather surprised the driver to have a naked Umbreon appear in his lap, and he hesitated for a moment, it was just the moment the assassin needed. One hand snapped out, twisting the man's wrist so that his hand spasmed and the gun tumbled to the floor, where it detonated, driving a hole through into the engine. At the same instant, he took a concentration of dark energy and pushed it into the man's head, bringing forth his feelings of despair and anguish. Already terrified, the man's eyes rolled to show the whites and he began gibbering in fear.

"Don'tkillme, pleaseddon'tkillme! I'llhelpyou… whatdoyouwant? Money? Drugs?"

Azrael smiled slyly.

"Information."

The side door opened as James reached the two of them. The man, so paralyzed was he by fear, almost slid out the door. He was an older man, in his mid fifties, with grey hair, and a retreating hairline.

"Please don't hurt me," he was almost whispering now, "I have children and a wife, please no!"

Azrael shuddered. As part of the attack, he had received a brief flash of the man's fears, and they had torn into his soul. This man had imagined coming home and finding his children murdered and his wife bound to the bed, her throat slit. It had been only a brief second for the both of them, but even the assassin had to blink to clear the image from his head. It had definitely unnerved him. He could not remember that happening before – perhaps he was slipping now he was engaging in his given occupation less.

Luckily James had not received a dark psychic backlash and he grabbed the man and dragged him from the car.

"Now," he said, "we just require some knowledge – what is Giovanni scheming?"

The man stared at him, his face clearly showing a lack of comprehension. "Who?"

"Your boss!" Azrael snarled. "He has asked you to increase your work on the morphs, right? Why?" His eyes blazed with fire. "You don't want to think of your family, do you?"

"Um…" James asked quietly, "is this entirely necessary?"

"Of course!" Azrael snapped back, knowing that he was too snappy, too quick for it to be anything but a denial. "Tell me!"

The man was biting his lip now, blood trickled down the side of his chin. He whimpered. "I don't know…"

Despair washed over Azrael. Perhaps this man did know nothing, perhaps he would have to enter the complex all by himself. It was a place he did not really desire returning to. It had been several months since he had shown his face to his past employer and he was a little nervous about showing his face there again.

And that was the understatement of the century. He tightened his grip on the man's shoulders.

"Okay, okay!" The man sounded horrendously flustered, and Azrael could not be surprised. "I'll tell you what I do know, but it isn't a lot! We've been making lots of creatures like you," he nodded at Azrael, "only, really powerful ones such as Gyrados, Charizard and those sorts." He shuddered. "I think," he paused for a moment, "I think there's going to be an army."

Azrael gulped. This boded most poorly indeed. "Why?"

"I dunno, I just… please, let me go, my wife, my children!"

James looked at Azrael pleadingly. 

Azrael nodded. "In a moment, please, can you tell me when?"

The man's eyes were very white now, his face draining of colour. "Soon, a week…" He whispered. "Or that, that's what I heard! Please…"

It was more than the assassin could cope with – he was an assassin, not a torturer, not a fiend. He scrambled backwards, thus releasing the man.

"You are free to go," he replied, "but speak of this to noone, or your dreams will be tormented."

The man nodded, and scrambled to his feet, James stepped aside to let him past and he sprinted off, towards the laboratories. Azrael sighed. He had been bluffing – unless he followed the man, he could not influence his dreams.

"Well, I hope you got what you wanted to know," James scowled. His green eyes said it all – he ill approved of the assassin's method. 

Azrael shrugged. He had hoped for more, but the entire event had shaken him. He was not about to tell the human that though. "All I'm going to get," he replied, "come on, let us return home."

"It's not your home," James muttered, thinking the assassin could not hear him.

But, with his sharp hearing, the assassin heard it easily and it too, sent a chill inside him. He had no home, no anything. He was nothing now. He had to redeem himself, and he would do anything in his power to do so. 

"What do you mean she's gone!" Kataryna cringed back at the rage of the Umbreon Assassin. "I couldn't trust you to keep Brooke under your watch and it seems I can't trust you to watch a child either! I pray you two decide to never have offspring!"

Kameron stepped forward, his dark eyes blazing at Azrael. "Do not frighten my wife," he said calmly, his voice holding only the faintest edge of a quiver. "We looked after her well, fed her, set her in bed, in, might I add, a closed up house, and when we awoke in the morning, she was gone."

Azrael stalked across the floor, mumbling as Kataryna and Kameron both stepped back from him. He frightened them, he could smell it, and he needed their help. But they had failed him – he had entrusted them for a mere five days with the charge of the child, and they had lost her! The incompetence. He sighed. A part of him wanted to punish them then and there for their stupidity, but the other part reminded him that Mystik was no normal child.

"Well, we shall just have to find her then," he replied tiredly.

"You think we haven't looked?" The normally mild-tempered young man seemed on the verge of rage himself, "we searched the entire area, as far as Cerulean and all the fields. No one has so much as seen her. And," he added, "we do have some good trackers amongst us." A Herugaa stepped from the shadows and yawned at Azarel, its canines flashing in the light as though such a thing were planned. It probably was.

Kataryna nodded. "Lucifer here can track a Pidgey," she explained, "and even he lost her trail. It's as if she vanished off the face of the earth."

Azrael scratched his chin. "she is a dark-type," he replied thoughtfully, "we have ways of doing things beyond your recognition."

"Um, Mr Umbreon," Kameron added tentatively, "Lucifer here is also a Dark Type. Dark types should know how to track there own, shouldn't they?"

Azrael shrugged. "We are a mysterious kin," he replied, "and Mystik is more mysterious then most. I doubt even a trained psychic could track her." He paused for a moment and stared at Kameron. "And my name is Azrael," he said softly, "it would do you well to remember that, boy!"

"And my name is Kameron," Kameron returned the look.

Violet eyes gazed into dark brown ones as both men held the stare. Finally, faced with the power of the Dark Pookamon, Kameron broke his gaze. It was not good to stare into Azrael's eyes for too long. You might trip and fall.

"We must find her," he stated. "Come with me." He turned away, his cloak swishing soundlessly around with him. He hesitated by the door, "well, are you joining me?"

"I will," Kameron replied quietly. 

James was waiting outside, Buttons in his lap. He was playing with a Umbreon youngster, throwing a stick which it was catching in mid air. He turned and frowned at Azrael. 

"You know," Kataryna suddenly appeared to remember something, "it wasn't just Mystik that was gone, but something else too. My notebook."

All eyes turned on her and she blushed. "My notebook, where I kept a record of all the Pookamon that came through and the route they took…"

"She has gone to the Isle," Azrael stated flatly. "There can be no other place. We must find her."

"If she has gone to the Isle," James replied, "then surely she will be safe. They will help her there. And if we continue that way, we can warn them of the impending doom."

Azrael nodded. "My thoughts entirely."

"Only, I think I would rather do the warning by myself," James mentioned, "for I feel it would be best if we were to part company."

A sly smile crossed the assassin's face. "You would rather I was behind you?" He asked, "where you could not see me?"

This had apparently not occurred to the young man, a look of fright graced his features and he stammered. "Um, well, err, I hadn't thought like that…"

"Are you with me?" Azrael asked.

"I guess…"

*

Some time later, the two males sped down the country road. In the back seat, Buttons and Cat glared at each other. It was not that they didn't get along, it was more that they could sense their companions ill concealed dislike of one another and it put them on edge. Azrael had picked up the Meowth, he didn't like leaving her alone too long, and besides, he felt he could use an ally. 

"Now," James cautioned, "this time allow me to do the talking, please?"

Azrael, lounging in the passenger seat, one arm resting on the window ledge, sighed deeply. "But you are such a wimp, James," he stated. "And you will never get anything done that way."

For a moment, James tore his attention away from the road and glared at Azrael. His green eyes seemed hard, cold, and the Umbreon assassin, as hardened as he was, could not suppress a shudder. He gulped.

James turned away. "Maybe that was true once," he said, "but things have changed, you know."

"Tell me about it," Azrael muttered. "Not that many years ago, I was a normal everyday Umbreon and suddenly I had fingers and a thumb. Talk about a shock to the system." He fell silent, aware that he was opening up to the man without intending to. 

Cat began grooming herself in the back seat, pointedly ignoring the Eevee.

Outside, the countryside gave way to a rocky beach.

James appeared to be pondering something. "Was it strange to be morphed?" He asked.

"What does it matter to you?" Azrael snapped, "you are just trying to be friendly, you do not really care. Human kin are all the same. You hate us, admit it."

"Hate you!" James almost choked. "I have devoted the last three years off my life to saving your kin!" He slammed down his foot and pulled over to a screeching halt that almost sent Azrael through the wind shield. Cat fell off the backseat with a yowl.

Azrael regained him composure quickly. "Sorry," he said quietly, startled by the fact that he felt a little afraid of this man. It was unusual for Azrael to feel afraid of anything. Something had changed in James since the two of them had last met. He seemed harder, less easily frightened or daunted. The Umbreon was not sure he liked it.

"So you should be," James muttered darkly. "Ingrate."

He started the engine again and they continued down the road.

A half hour later the car began jolting violently and James was forced to pull over once more. As he opened the bonnet, billows of grey-white smoke poured out. Coughing, he waved the smoke from his face, as his eyes streamed from the acrid fumes. Azrael sprang nimbly from the car.

"Looks like she is having some difficulty," he stated, pacing back and forth. It was night time now, his time, but also the Nyura's time and he wondered how far the child would have gone by now. It had only been a few days, and she was on foot. Surely she could not have made it to the Isle yet?

And what did it matter if she had? If she made it there, would she not be safe with her own kin? A safety that was hardly guaranteed if she stayed with the assassin.

James slammed the bonnet down with a grumble of dismay. "We won't be going any further tonight." He stated. "Not until we find someone to fix this car."

"We've got to keep moving!" Azrael scowled, pacing back and forth, for some reason feeling extremely anxious, the worry seething inside him like an inner thunderstorm. He could feel the turmoil increasing, threatening to break lose in a moment. Something was going to happen, he could sense it, with all his dark powers he could feel it, sense it in the air, the ground, the whole of his being.

Something was going to happen on the Isle within the next few days and it involved not only the refugees, but Mystik, and Brooke, and even he himself. He had to be there for it. 

"This baby isn't going anywhere," James stated.

The Umbreon sighed. "Then we walk," he said.

"Walk? It's miles to the island! Are you crazy?"

"Maybe I am," Azrael stated, "maybe I am."

With Buttons and Cat in tow (and scowling at each other), the human and the Pookamon abandoned the smoking car and walked down the darkling road.

Above them the moon hung, almost full.

They had not gone far, when the road entered into trees and suddenly Azrael paused, all senses on the alert. He reached out and grabbed James by the arm.

"Something lurks here," he hissed, "waiting for us."

"Like what?" James asked. A moment too soon.

Red eyes suddenly shone at them from all angles, red eyes that glowed like tiny torches in the dark light. Instantly the two humanoids drew together, back to back. Azrael carefully and quickly drew his knife from his belt. Chittering suddenly sounded, a high pitched, shrill sound.

"Zubats!" James hissed, identifying them.

Azrael shuddered. Zubats were bad news, in any respect, but it was their ability to drain life that scared the assassin. The other thing that disturbed him was the fact that they were here, and they were attacking. Certainly wild Pokemon were frightened of Pookamon, and did attack them occasionally, but not like this… At least not in his experience. Several of the Zubats, or whatever they were, zoomed in, the shrill shrieking reaching a pitch that overloaded the Umbreon's sensitive ears. Cat, ever on the alert, sprang into the air, swiping at one with her sharp claws and batting it to the ground where it flapped and fought. The sound of her closing her jaws about its slender neck, complete with the crunching of bone, sent shivers down Azrael's spine. 

A Zubat struck him in the face, claws scratching him even through his fur. He snapped at it, almost catching it in his teeth, but missing by a hairsbreadth. He felt a shudder pass through James's body as several of the bat's attacked him too.

Closing his eyes, Azrael drew together as much energy as he could muster – not a lot given he was quite tired from walking such a distance, and sent it out in a circuit about him, striking as many of the beast's down as he could. Also, due to the exertion and the adrenaline, a thin sheen of sweat was covering his fur and like his non-morphic counterparts, Azrael sweated poison. Unfortunately, this did not deter the Zubats.

He felt them latch onto him, and felt his head swimming as they began draining his energy. Behind him he could feel James collapse, the man lacking the strength of the morphic beings.

Azrael fell to his knees, the sound of the Zubat's shrieking echoing in his ears, but there was something else too, something he had not noticed sooner.

These creatures were as unnatural as he.

As this thought sparked in his mind, it was quickly pushed away by darkness, as bright light, golden-white, shot from the creatures' eyes and forced the last of his awareness away.

*

The Nidorina peered over her glasses at the small group of Pokemorphs. Cassandra leaned on her desk, her pen and paper ready at hand. Brooke was sitting sideways in her seat, her feet resting on her neighbour's desk, and doodling on her pad. The Sandshrew suspected she was drawing more of her pictures. The rest of the class were similarly varied between hideously disorganised and willing and waiting.

"Today," the teacher said slowly and almost dramatically, "we are going to talk about courting."

"What?" Asked one of the boys, a Venonat-morph. 

She smiled knowingly. "What we would think as finding a mate."

Cheers echoed from around the room. Cassandra found herself blushing and stared at her paper. She had suspected this would be happening soon, with the Valentine's Day Dance less then a week away. It was Health class at present, a class Cassandra dreaded because everyone else seemed more knowledgeable about everything then herself. And most of these morphs still thought like Pokemon. To them finding a mate was as easy as walking up to the nearest member of the opposite sex and displaying their tail feathers, or whatever variant of such they had. To her it was so much more. She was well read. She patted the battered copy of "Stardust" which was sitting beside her. Since being given it the day before she had stayed up all night reading it. It had been something of an effort to stay awake in Mathematics and English. The boy in that story, why, he had been sent on a fruitless quest by his "beloved" and travelled through countless dangers merely to find that what he sought was entirely different. The book had held her spellbound, she could not stop thinking about it and how she would love a male, a mate that would do almost anything for her. She sighed and tried to concentrate, trying to force the image of Saffire's pale blue eyes, so pure and beautiful, from her mind.

"… And I think you will find it is not what you suspected," the Nidorina, whose name was Miss Quillene (Pookamon were none too original on the names they chose for themselves) continued. "For I am afraid that now we are humanoid, we shall be doing things the human way."

The cheeky Venonat, Jasper, rolled his eyes and stuck his hand up again, talking without waiting to be recognised. "But why? Our way has always worked." He winked at Alianna, an attractive Omanyte morph (it could happen…). She grinned back.

"Because we are now of a more civilised nature."

Brooke continued in her sketching, shading her picture in intricate detail. Despite the efforts of the various teachers, noone had yet managed to teach the Vaporeon-girl to read. She and Cassandra had both been verbally tested when enrolled in the school (it was a necessity to graduate before being allowed proper habitation on the Isle, because many of them still thought like Pokemon), and ranked in Grade C. Cassandra suspected this was the grade for the bright but somewhat constrained, those that had been effected negatively by the change. Brooke, despite her short attention span, did show unnerring intelligence, which often surprised the teachers, and Cassandra, well, much to her embarrassment it had taken her ten minutes to pick up the courage to speak. She hated talking out in class.

"So, the rest of our classes this week will focus on how to behave like civilised humanoids instead of uncivilised beasts." She paused, "okay, now, how do you let someone know that your interested in them?"

A dozen hands shot into the air, a dozen voices shouting out suggestions. Miss Quillane waited until the din began to die down and then said extremely quietly, "one at a time please, you first Julie."

The Grimer girl grinned, "you walk up to them and engulf them." She said.

Miss Quillane shook her head. "Maybe that was the way once, but how many of you would like to be smothered by a Grimer?" She glanced around the class. The vote was unanimous. Nobody made any sound. "Jakob?"

The quiet Bulbasaur boy, who was chewing on his pencil, looked up in surprise. "Uh-uh," he said, "yuh-you can tuh-tell thu-them buh-by…" Everybody waited with baited breath for his answer, "wuh-writing them a-a-a-a nuh-note." He returned to nibbling on his pencil. Cassandra sighed. Of course Jakob would prefer to write a note, with his horrible stutter.

Write a note! Why had she not thought of that? She began writing ideas on her paper.

"Very good. That is a nice idea. Any others? How about you Cassandra," the teacher's dreaded words reached her ears. "How would you let a male know you fancied him?"

Oh, how could she be so brutal? To ask such a horrible question? Cassandra felt her ears blush. She gulped. "I wouldn't…" she whispered, causing everyone to crane forward to hear her words.

"Someone's gonna be lonely at the dance," Jasper mocked. "Why dontcha ask Brooke, Teach?"

Brooke lifted her head up from her paper and frowned at him. There was sudden silence in the room, Brooke's answers were always worth waiting for.

She leaned back and stared at the ceiling as though deep in thought, and Cassandra cringed, wondering what embarrassing litany she was going to come up with this time. After a lengthy pause she glanced down again and began twitching her hands across the paper. 

"I'd, you know, jump down from the stars and put out my hand to him, so he could take it, and we could run up the stars and bounce around the moon and dance in the starlight. And, well, that'd be rather good, I guess. Until, you know, he decided to leave me and take my heart with him in his teeth. That's not much fun, not much at all, so I think, all in all, I wouldn't tell him."

Some of the class applauded. Cassandra could never tell if it was sarcastic applause or genuine appreciation. Miss Quillane smiled.

"Very nicely said," she replied, "until the end bit. Thank you." She paused, "so we have one suggestion for suffocating, another for writing a note, and two for not doing anything. So let's take the second one, since that's the only one we can really work on!"

Cassandra's ears perked up. Perhaps this could be informative…

Or so she thought, until… Miss Quillane reached out and took a huge volume from the shelf.

"Poetry," she said, as though it were the most exciting thing in the world.

Half an hour later and Cassandra was riveted. She had heard poetry before, of course, but these love poems were purely magical! The things that they said about each other in these letters… It made you imagine each of them was the personification of beauty. She stared at her sheet on which she had scrawled the lines that appealed to her. none of them sounded nearly as magical as they did when read in the poem. She sighed miserably. How could she possible write such a poem for Saffire?

Finally class was over and the morphs, or some of them anyway, ran shrieking from the room. It was a Friday, and Friday afternoon the Seaview residents were given the choice between relaxing at the College, or going into the main township of the Island Haven. Each resident was given a certain amount of Credits weekly, an allowance, and you could earn extra Credits by excelling in a subject or by doing something extraordinary. Cassandra generally saved up her Credits to buy books. Brooke never spent anything, she merely made strange and obscure comments until the males bought her ice cream or chocolates. Cassandra was startled to realise that she envied the popular Vaporeon girl, who with her friendly nature made friends with ease and seemed to attract people like honey attracts Beedrill. Poor Cassandra could barely even talk to the males without blushing. Suddenly she decided something. She had been saving her Credits for the last few weeks to buy a particularly fascinating fantasy novel she had found (books were rare, and thus very expensive), but perhaps she should buy something else.

Miss Quillane had said women, human women, dressed nicely to please human men, right? 

So might the same work for Pookamon?

"Brooke," she asked, "are you going to town?" She knew very well that Brooke rarely stayed behind.

"Oh, why not," Brooke replied, "the sherbet sprinkles are calling me. Why? Was the quiet Cassandy wanting the room to entertain herself?"

"I thought I'd come with you," she stated.

Brooke's forehead creased in amazement at such a statement. "You thought you'd come with me?" She asked, slowly and disbelieving. "I thought, you know, that the busy place and the shops and all the noisy, noisy people didn't really, agree with you."

The Sandshrew girl shrugged, "I thought I'd get a new dress for the dance." She stated.

"You're going to the dance? I thought that was just, like, for the people who like loud and boring stuff and who…" she paused. Her sea-blue eyes bored into Cassandra's. "You want to impress mister many-tails, don't you? I think you should spend you time flying and sleeping instead of flirting and hurting," she added. "But, you know, it's up to you."

"Are you going?" Cassandra asked.

Brooke shrugged. "only if the right person asked me, but only the left have, and I don't want what's left." 

"You've been _asked?"_ Cassandra was amazed. It had only been today when anyone had suggested that they ask people at all. She had known Brooke was popular, but this… this was too much for her fragile ego. She knew noone would ask her. Nobody even talked to her. She blinked back the tears of self pity. "Are you going to go though? With them I mean."

Brooke shook her head. "I'd rather dance with Mr Leafy," she replied.

And Cassandra had to confess, she felt relieved.

The bus trip into town was, as usual, quite horrible. Since it was filled with rowdy Pookamon, all of them anxious to be getting out of the corridors for the afternoon and evening, it was not a quiet journey. Cassandra huddled in her seat, trying desperately to concentrate on "Lord of the Rings", having returned to that book again. She was having difficulty concentrating, what with Brooke leaning over the back of the seat and having a philosophical argument with Jakob the stutterer over whether or not one could tell the time but the shape of the sun. Naturally, Brooke had started it. 

Finally the bus finished winding its way over the rugged country road and into the suburbs of the city centre. The Island Haven had been constructed six years ago by the first of the refugees and was a very strange looking place. It was a mixture of rough, tumbledown buildings made from wood, brick and even hardened dirt. Intermingled with these were cheap but rather more substantial buildings made by the later day refugees and constructed to last more then a few years. Rough signs hanging above doorways depicted pictures of food, livestock, clothing, books or whatever the wares inside were. Brooke was not the only Pookamon that lacked the ability to read. The College that was Seaview was probably the finest building in the entire Island, as it had been constructed specially for education and rehabilitation. 

There was a Ponyta and a Kadabra arguing outside the fruit vendors over the price of apples, as the bus rattled up alongside. All vehicles and such had been donated by kindly humans, and most of it was not in a fit state of repair. Cassandra struggled off amongst the hoards and stared around at the dirty shops. How was one to find clothing in all this? Brooke took her by the arm and roughly dragged her down the road, followed by a gaggle of about three young men, amongst them Jakob, and two twins, one a Flareon who called himself Blayze and the other a Jolteon named Ray. Cassandra sighed. Trust them not to be able to go anywhere without Brooke's loyal fan club. 

"Would you like an ice cream, Brooke?" Blayze asked, his eyes glistening hopefully.

"I'd like something creamy sweet covered in little pinky dustings that make your mouth all sparkle and pop," she replied happily. She was barefoot, Brooke never wore shoes if she could avoid it – would in all probability go around naked if the matrons at Seaview allowed it. Cassandra was nearly barefoot herself. Shoes were not comfortable on her ugly Sandshrew claws, built for digging, and thus she only ever wore open toed sandals. As usual, the males of the group paid her no heed.

"Suh-so wuh-what are yuh-you guys guh-going to duh-do thu-thu-thu this after-nuh-noon," Jakob managed.

Ray, the more cruel of the two brothers turned to stare at him. "I-I-I duh-don't nuh-know," he mocked, "maybe go into the bars and get some Moon's Delight." Moon's Delight was a pseudonym for the rather strong Moonshine that was brewed by some of the less law abiding citizens. And there were laws on the Island Haven, many of them based on the laws of the human civilisation. Aside from the state of the buildings, there was little enough difference.

The Bulbasaur boy flinched at the mockery, and actually turned to Cassandra, acknowledging her for the first time. "Wuh-what are you duh-doing, Cass?" He asked her.

She blushed, embarrassed even by the slight attention he was showing her. "Nothing," she whispered.

Brooke stuck her chin in the air. "If you want to flit about with the bubbly juices until your eyes roll back in your head and your chins dribble with foam, don't let any not-drinker-of-bev-er-ages stop you. Miss Cassandy and I are going to make ourselves look all nice for the time of celebration." And, taking Cassandra's arm in hers, Brooke half led, half dragged her friend towards a large brick building.

Ray and Blayze glanced at each other, then grinned, "we'll come help," they said in unison.

This was embarrassing enough without them traipsing along like little lost growlithes, Cassandra thought. But, being herself, decided not to share.

"Don't you love the pretty little frilliness?" Brooke asked for the third time, doing a little twirl, "all the little bits of lace and feathers, living together all happy like, you know, butterflies and starfish."

The two Eon brothers sighed and rolled their eyes. Cassandra patted the modest dress she had chosen for herself. It looked okay on her, she surmised, not that the males had noticed. It was almost as if she was not there. She suspected that they had come to the conclusion that Brooke would be an easy score, since she did not appear particularly bright, or in touch with anything. Of course, Cassandra knew from experience that the Vaporeon-girl was anything but, despite the fact that she was prone to dancing naked in the rain of the fancy took her. She had been trying on dresses for the last half an hour, long after Cassandra had chosen the floral print dress for herself. The Sandshrew girl wondered if her parading was to attract he males or an attempt to get them bored and make them leave. Jakob sat morosely in the corner, staring out the window. After growing bored of watching Brooke parading, the brothers had turned their attentions to mocking his stutter.

Finally they stood up. "We're off to get some Moon's Delight," Ray said, "see ya Brooke, and Jakob, yuh-you buh-better wuh-wuh-watch yaself, I'm sure the matron would love your excuse for being home late!" 

Blayze chuckled and the two of them departed.

"Bye bye!" Brooke called after them. She watched them leave then skipped up to the shop assistant, a rather weary Charmander-lass. "Excuse me Miss Firetail," she said, "I want something as blue as the sky and as gold as the leaves that tumble all merrily down from the sky when, you know, the weather gets like all nippy cold."

"Certainly miss," the assistant sighed, leading her towards a rack.

Jakob took the chance to move his chair closer to Cassandra. "Uh-I was wuh-wondering if I could, yuh-you know, ah-ask you something?" He whispered.

"Of course," Cassandra's heart soared. He was talking to her, someone was actually noticing her!

"Wuh, would yuh-you, puh-puh-puh-please,' he finally forced out, "thu-this duh-dance, cuh-could you…"

Was he asking her to the dance? Cassandra couldn't believe it. Okay, so it was only Jakob with the terrible stutter, but he was a nice enough person, and not too displeasing to the eye… Did she really expect Saffire to ask her? She waited with baited breath for Jakob to finish, feeling it was rude to interrupt him, or finish his words, as some people tended to.

"…Ah-Ask Brooke to guh-go with me?" He finally finished.

Cassandra's heart plummeted. "Do it yourself." She asked cruelly, then felt bad immediately.

The boy's face fell. "Only, I-I ruh-ruh-really like her." He whispered, "and cuh-can't ask huh-her myself."

"And you can't write her a letter, because she can't read?"

"Yuh-yes. Well, no. I-I-I wuh-wrote huh-her a luh-luh-luh…"

"Letter," Cassandra finished, feeling sorry for him.

"…Yuh-yes. I thu-thought you muh-might ruh-ruh-read i-it tuh-to huh-her."

"I can try," the Sandshrew girl replied, her compassion getting the better of her. In a way she and Jakob were similar – both of them had trouble fitting in, her because of her wretched shyness, and he because he had trouble talking. He handed her an envelope. It had a unicorn drawn on it.

"Cuh-cos Brooke luh-likes them," he replied.

"Cassandy!" Brooke suddenly called. "I've found something you might like as much as I like sherbetty cream." She skipped over, almost tripping over what she was carrying. It was a dress, or rather, two dresses. The Charmander girl, perhaps anxious to actually make a sale, hurried after her.

"You'll like this,' she said, "it's modelled after the mediaeval human's clothing, which means it'll really boost your bust and cover your butt."

Cassandra frowned, wondering why her bust needed boosting and what was wrong with her butt? Luckily the girl kept talking. 

"And the colour goes well with you, err, plates," she ventured. 

"Go on," Brooke said grinning, "it'll make my heart dance if yours does."

Jakob shrugged, "wuh-why not?" He asked.

The Sandshrew girl nodded. Maybe then someone, anyone would notice her. Maybe Jakob would ask her to the dance instead of Brooke, with her flighty fancies and shaded past.

Maybe even Saffire would.

"I'll try it on," she whispered, allowing the girl to lead her away to the Changing Rooms.

*

Azrael awoke, in light. Pure blinding light that made his eyes water with its harsh caress. The Burraki covered his eyes with his hands and dragged himself into the corner, shading himself from the evil light as best he could. 

"You are awake." A voice came, although the blinded Assassin could not see from whence it came. He could not see anything.

"What does it matter to you?"

"Everything and nothing." The voice was lilting, light , almost joyous. Azrael suspected it was either female or a feminine male. A hand caressed his cheek, and drew away almost as quickly. 

"Oh, how very obscure and enigmatic." He couldn't help it, the sarcasm crept in.

"You have been brought here for a purpose, Azrael Darkson. You have been brought here for repentance."

"Repentance? Repentance from what?"

"For the evil you have brought upon your kin." Suddenly the lights dimmed, and as the flickering lights in his vision cleared, he saw her. She was beautiful, with the essence of the air and mystery about her. Her eyes, wide and clear, were set in a face with almost serpentine beauty. It was her body that confused him the most though, for whereas her face was that of the rarest of Pokemon, the Dragonaire, her body was twisted. Her arms were bent and warped into the form of bat-like wings and her legs almost wasted. She supported herself on a staff, carved with the likenesses of many pokemon.

"You mean the fact that I was responsible for the death of some very sad and depressive cases who could not get the courage to grab life by the arm and shake it until it bleeds?"

"For bringing to the abrupt ending the life's of those never given a chance."

Azrael sighed. "What do you expect me to do?"

The deformed lady stepped forward and placed her hand upon his shoulder. "My minions have borne with them word, rumours they have heard in the whispers of the wind, truths they have heard pass from lover to lovee, secrets they have smelt and heard and seen. And they speak of great unease."

"Team Rocket are sending the Pookamon to invade the Island Haven," Azrael stated flatly. "This I know myself."

"There is more you do not know as well, more for you to learn."

"You mean you are not going to tell me?" He asked, "you know these secrets but you are not about to tell me."

"Indeed," she replied, "I can tell you only what the wind tells me. And the wind tells me that Giovanni's armies are building, they shall invade in a week. But there is more then that. They whisper to me of one who will approach the Island in advance, a spy perhaps, and set it upon its course for destruction."

"I do not suppose they whisper of who this might be?" The Assassin asked.

The Dragonair-Zubat woman shook her head. "They do not, only that the one that spies is as innocent in it all as those already on the Island."

"And you know all this yet you are not about to help?" Azrael sighed. "That seems to be just a little bit cowardly. You stand in behind and watch the destruction take place, able to stop it but choosing not to."

"It is your job, Azrael, for your repentance. Do not fail us, to fail would mean the destruction of all our free kin."

"Coward," he muttered. "Who are you to ask me to do anything?"

She gulped. "Once, I had a different name, but now I cam called Lilith, for my fate."

"Lilith," Azrael mused, "mother of monsters."

"If you like." She brushed back her long red hair and smiled at him serenely. "If you fail, Brooke will die." She said.

The Umbreon's eyes flashed and he whirled to face her. "What does Brooke matter to you? To me? What difference will it make to me if they die? How dare you threaten me!"

"You love her," Lilith stated, "that I can see, and smell and hear. And I do not threaten you, I merely tell you what is the truth."

"You are not just a mother of monsters, but a monster yourself," Azrael muttered, "to know what is going on, yet not to give aid."

"So speaks you, murderer of the innocent, killer in the name of the greater evil."

"I am not a murderer!" Azrael's halo was glowing now as the rage built up in him. "I am an assassin! I kill those who want to die. And don't we all, really want to die?"

"You don't. You fear it."

And Azrael knew it was true, and could not deny it.

"Now, I have had enough of your petty arguments. Go, do what has to be done, or die in the trying. But beware, for not only are the Pookamon against you, dark Assassin, but your fellow workers, those of Team Rocket hunt you down too. And they will stop at nothing to kill you."

And with that the light dimmed and Lilith was gone.

Blinking furiously, trying to rid his eyes of the burning light, Azrael stared around him. Once more, he was on the road, where the Zubat had attacked them. Once more he was standing alone, with the crumpled form of James behind him. Cat was playing with a dead Zubat at his feet, he crouched down and stroked her, more for reassurance then anything else. She let out a rumbling purr and butted his hand with her head. Behind him Buttons whimpered, and he turned from his Meowth to James. The Zubat had drained the young man of much of his energy, although he was still alive, still conscious, albeit barely. Azrael crouched down beside him and placed his hand on his brow. It was hot, sticky with sweat.

Now he had a predicament, for everything in his told him he must move now, must get to the Island as soon as he could, but he could hardly leave James lying here on the road, could he just? If he dragged him to the side of the road and covered him with something, his cloak perhaps, then surely the human would remain alive and warm until he regained his energy or help came. Buttons would watch over him, and really, this was none of James's business, it was Azrael's fight, Azrael's challenge, surely James was not a major player in it? 

Lifting the man under his armpits he half carried, half dragged the blue haired human to the side of the road, and leaned him against a tree, wrapping his assassin's cloak about him. It was a warm cloak, and the chill night air would have look chance of penetrating it before help or dawn arrived. James mumbled a bit in his sleep, and groaned, but made no move to say anything sensical. 

"Goodbye James," Azrael whispered, as he strode away from the man. Cat darted around his heels, eager to get moving and he felt something crunch under his foot. The dead Zubat. Curiosity got the better of him and he stooped down for a moment to look at it. There was something odd with this Zubat, for unlike normal Zubat, this one's fur was a pale golden-yellow and its face looked slightly monkeyish. He shuddered, for not only was this a Zubat, it was also a winged Mankey. No wonder Cat had not eaten it!

Team Rocket must not have only been experimenting with human DNA and Pokemon.

As he stood up again, repulsed at the freakish creature, a sound not unlike thunder rolled out around the road and he felt something whistle past him, leaving a furrow of blood across his fingers. A bullet. Someone was shooting at him! If he had not stood up at just that instant, the shot would have buried itself in his head. A flash of light alerted his senses and he threw himself to the ground just in time as another bullet whistled over him. The flash of light was all he needed. Gathering the powers of darkness, he leapt, disappearing at the same instant, becoming one with the shadows, tracking the gun flash.

A moment later, he appeared behind the gunman, bringing his knee up to meet the human's groin. But the human seemed better trained then many, and instead of curling in two, swung the butt of the barrel at his head. Even with his faster then normal reflexes, the assassin was not swift enough to avoid the blow catching his overly large ears, and the ringing passed through them. He brought up his fist to catch the gunman in the jaw, this time sending them stumbling back and took the brief reprieve to disappear again, this time appearing next to James. If he could not fight, then he would have to run. Team Rocket never came alone. 

James was semi conscious now, although still groggy. Azrael scooped him up and began half running, half stumbling into the bushes with him. Another volley of bullets, from two guns this time, from the sound of things, followed in his wake, but he felt no pain and knew he had not been hit.

The human whimpered and muttered, and tried to move, but his legs would not quite work right, and within a few paces into the forest, Azrael felt his foot slide out from under him. Both he and James crashed to the ground, sprawling in the peat moss.

"Uh, what?" James mumbled as Azrael dragged him to his feet again and the two of them stumbled through the trees. The occasional flicker of cream showed where Cat was trailing them, but Buttons was so dark that even the assassin could not see her in the dense forest. Behind him he heard breaking twigs as the Team Rocket thugs followed them into the forest.

Another shot rang out and James almost shrieked. Azrael knew that his companion had been hit, but he could not take the time to investigate the damage, it would have to wait. Time was, as always, of the essence. 

The next barrel flash actually came from ahead of them. Reflexively, Azrael ducked, but the shot had gone wide anyway. Beside him James was moaning with pain. 

Suddenly the gunman up ahead let out a startled yelp, and there was a crashing sound. Realising that whatever had happened, their only hope lay in making it past that gunman, Azrael hissed at James. "I know you're hurt, but ignore it, we have to run, we have to get past and lose ourselves in the woods, can you do that?"

He could feel James weakly nod against his shoulder.

"Then let's go!" 

He took James by the hand and started sprinting towards the gunman ahead of them, from who sounds of a scuffle were emitted. Behind him James was dragged along, struggling to keep his feet. Another shot rang out, this time from behind them, but due to their flight, it merely sent a tree branch crashing downwards. Azrael ignored it and continued running, trying not to stumble as the slow weight of James dragged him back. And then they were past the gunman, who was struggling with an Eevee and a Meowth, and onwards, into the dark heart of the wood.

For about ten feet, and then they were slipping and sliding as the woods gave way to a steep bank, below which a tumultuous river hissed like a fearsome serpent.

They hit the water in unison, sinking down almost to the bottom before natural buoyancy took over and they were brought up to the surface, kicking and spitting. The water was cold, bitterly so and Azrael was thankful of his pelt. It seemed to wake James up fully, invigorate him somewhat although, much to his alarm, Azrael noticed a trail of blood in the water. He wrapped his arms about James so that the two of them were not separated by the rapids. It was a struggle to keep his head above water, let alone the other man's, but James was still weak from the attack and could barely keep himself afloat. Rocks rushed past them, some of them snagging on their clothing, but the assassin did his best to avoid them, although it was more luck then any sort of skill. Time and time again the water forced his face underneath, and time and time again he would struggle for air, his eyes were streaming and all he could see were bright lights flashing in front of his vision.

Twigs and other debris caught in his hair, his fur, scraped past his skin and something large pushed itself straight into his back, sending him struggling under the water once more. This time he barely had the energy to drag himself up and he knew there was little time left for them. He could not tell if James was alive or dead. The thing that had hit him suddenly caught his eyes through his blurred vision. It was a door. And it had caught against a rock, as the current dragged him near it, Azrael dragged James through the water towards it, feeling the water dragging the man downstream with so much force Azrael thought his arms would dislocate. The pain was immense. Finally to his blessed relief, he managed to grasp the edge of the board with his one free hand. It immediately came free and gave into the tug downstream, dragging he and James with it. He clung to it with one hand, his other arm wrapped around James's chest, under his arms, in an effort to keep his face above the water.

And finally the rapids died down, the water, although still swift, was calmer. Gritting his teeth, Azrael angled the door towards the side of the river, for here the banks were sheer, rising far above them, so far it was almost blocked out the moonlight, and when it hit the rock face, he used the wall as a brace to assist him in lifting and dragging the blue haired man onto the door. James was still alive, and conscious enough to pull himself onto it, but them he sunk back into a blissful darkness.

Azrael wished he had such a luxury, but the door would only support the weight of one person. He managed to get his upper body across the board, almost tipping James back into the water, and then sunk into a semi-comatose state himself, brought on by the cold and exhaustion.

When finally awareness dawned on him again it was dawn, the sky lit with a myriad of hues – gold, red, pink. It was quite vivid and beautiful, but the Umbreon could not take the time to enjoy it. Here the river had exited the gully and was on its way to the sea. It was slow enough now for Azrael to exert the last vestige of energy left in his body and push the door to the shore. Then, exhausted beyond measure, he dragged himself to the welcoming solid ground, and drew James up beside him. The two of them lay on the banks of the river like exhausted lovers, their clothing sodden and in tatters, their skin battered and broke. But they were both alive.

And then darkness, once more, claimed all.

When he awoke it was well past noon, and to the sound of James vomiting. He struggled to his feet, almost falling in the process and stared at their surroundings. His stomach was churning too, and suddenly it gave way as he coughed up mouthfuls of dirty river water. Then, exhausted even by that mere action, he collapsed to the ground once more, and sat there, his long hair hanging lank about his face, almost covering his features. James toppled over on his side, and half dragged himself to where Azrael was sitting.

"I am never, ever, doing that again," he said. His face was pale, and his clothing, damp as it was, was stained a deep brown-red about the shoulder.

"You were shot," Azrael stated, then found his vision fading to blackness again.

He did not know how long it was, but it cannot have been more then a few minutes, because his next thought was James saying; "it's only a flesh wound."

Struggling against the overwhelming weariness and the ache of every bone in his body, Azrael leaned forward and fumbled with the buttons that remained on James's shirt. It seemed his fingers were not his own anymore, they were so cold that he could not feel the buttons. Exasperating, he ripped the sides of the shirt apart, exposing James's injury.

Despite what James had said, it was not just a flesh wound. Blood still oozed from it in a lethargic sense, for the cold had slowed the blood loss somewhat and sealed the hole. Feeling sudden fright, Azrael tore the shirt across the back, revealing a jagged exit hole about 5 cms in diameter (2 inches to you Americans!).

James whimpered and collapsed forward and Azrael knew that he would bleed to death unless he found help soon. But where were they? The cold had stilled the blood flow, and decreased their heart rates, but how long before the heat of the day won out? How long before James started to display the symptoms of acute hyperthermia?

At least Azrael had fur to protect him. He took off his own shirt, still damp despite the kiss of the sun, and wrapped it around James's injury. 

James began muttering to himself. "I saw an angel," he whispered, "a beautiful, wonderful angel, like the one I killed. And water, water everywhere, not a drop to drink. Won't you spare me a dime? I need it to buy my goldfish a bicycle."

The cloak had been lost, and would have been too damp to help them anyway, and James was delirious with pain and from the amount of torture his body had faced. It was a wonder he was still alive. You had to admire him really, surviving all that when it had almost done for the more hardier morph.

"I know where we are," James continued, "we're on the verge of paradise, the kiss of the stars. The time when worlds come to an end and not a beginning. A place where people will help me because I have danced with them in the past and giving them something they will always forget. I think I'd like to sleep now. Good sleep… Eat a sprig of parsley above he bed to keep the nasty fish away. Don't drink the water, it could be poison. Or is that a fish? I don't like fish, its bad for the digestion…"

He rambled on, with Azrael understanding nothing, but the first comment had sparked something in his mind. He knew where they were. James knew where they were.

They were on the sea shore where they had said "farewell" to Brooke and Cassandra in their own ways.

Sanctuary was not too far away, the river had delivered them, in whatever state, to their destination. Now all they needed to do was find someone who might actually be able to help them.

"James," Azrael ordered, "James!"

"Did someone call me baloney?" James asked, his eyes flickering at the assassin, but unfocussed and clouded.

"We must walk, can you walk James? Can you walk?!"

He tried to heave James to his feet and the man allowed himself to be lifted up, although he seemed unsteady on his feet and leaned heavily against Azrael, the Umbreon eventually managed to get him to walk down the river bank until they reached the beach.

Luckily it was not far, and his eyes shone with hope when he saw the jetty there. The very jetty where Brooke had stood and bid James farewell.

She had never said goodbye to him, and he had hardly expected it.

More to the point, there was a boat there, and several men were helping a Wartortle morph load crates onto the boat. It seemed the Islanders were not entirely self sufficient just yet. 

Stumbling and staggering, the two men made their way to the jetty and collapsed at the foot of it. The men turned around with expressions of alarm.

"Please," Azrael begged, "we need help, my friend" (and it seemed odd calling James that) "has been shot and we fell into a river and were washed downstream." He shuddered violently and the human men immediately hastened down to support him and his companion.

However, the Wartortle's eyes hardened. He placed the crate he was carrying on the ground and stepped down towards Azrael. It happened so fast that Azrael could not have dodged it even if he had the energy to do so, as the morph punched him in the chest. Pain erupted in him and he collapsed forward.

"Why did you do that?" One of the men asked.

The Wartortle frowned at them. "Can you not see who this is?" He asked. "This pathetic scrap of fur?" He nodded at James, "help this one aboard and see that he gets treatment, and as for this one." He kicked Azrael in the shin. "Leave him here for the vultures to pick the flesh from his sorry carcass."

"Are you going to kill him?" One of the men asked tentatively.

"Nah," the Sailor shook his head. "He looks nearly half dead as it is. I doubt he could survive an attack from a half dead Rattata."

"What did he actually do?" Another man asked.

The Wartortle morph put this hands on his hips. "He killed someone I cared about." He said simply. "And he did it for money. Does that not make him a monster?" 

The men threw him into the sand and kicked him. He was too weak to resist as they rolled him in the dirt, pounded him, thrashed him.

Darkness took over again.

Spitting blood, Azrael dragged his head upwards from the sand just in time to watch the ship disappearing across the glistening waters. He could only guess, but he suspected James was on board, safely been borne towards care. They would take him to the Isle, he had saved many of their lives, and they would brand him as a hero.

He, on the other hand, had destroyed many of them, and was not even a villain, but a monster, a monster only fit for the scavengers.

Twin tears made a path in the sand that coated his muzzle, trickling down his vulpine face to dissolve into the sand and vanish forever.

*

Cassandra sat cross legged on her bed and stared at the small envelope, trying to pick up the courage to open it. It was ridiculous, she thought, he had given it to her, given her permission to read it and yet she still felt guilty. What was it going to be anyway? A scrap of paper with a clumsily scrawled "Deer Broock, will yew goe two the danz with me? From Jakob," most likely. So why should it unnerve her so. Muttering angrily to herself, the Sandshrew-girl tore open the envelope and pulled out the folded piece of paper. It was greenish-blue and smelt a little of must, as though it had been left under a bed or some place for a period of time. Gently, still feeling the guilt gnaw at her, she unfolded it. The writing was clumsy, but then again, Jakob's large hands would have trouble with a pencil, Cassandra's were not a great deal better. Manual dexterity was something lacking in most of the Pookamon, since in their past they had never used their hands as hands, merely as feet. 

"Deer Brooke," she read to herself, "your eyez are like the sun, shinning up on the waters off my hart. Your beuty is timeliss and wanderous and eye would luv to make it mine, to hold you in my arms untill the night washes over us with its gentel caress. Plis goto the dance with me, Jakob."

Cassandra paled. He might stutter in his voice but he definitely did not stutter on paper! Certainly, his spelling left something to be desired, but that was hardly the point. She could not read Brooke this, Brooke would either be completely confused or deeply upset. During the brief time she had known Brooke, Cassandra knew that she had no desire to become involved with a man, had been too deeply hurt by one in the past (that assassin that had tried to kill her, she had surmised), or if not really a man, then a male of the Pokemon persuasion. But what was she supposed to do? The note had given her an idea however…

"Hey there Miss armour-skin!" Brooke slammed the door open so wide the walls shook. She was wearing nothing but a long t-shirt with a Rapidash head print on it. Bits of flower and leaves were tangled in her hair. She must have been wandering in the woods again, probably chasing Rattata or something. "What's the piece of paper telling you to do?"

Cassandra hastily hid it away, forgetting that Brooke could never understand it anyway. "Just a note from someone," she replied, hoping Brooke would get bored. Unfortunately, Brooke was not entirely predictable at all.

"Who's sending you notes?" She asked, climbing onto the bed beside her roommate, "is it that Mr Plenty-tails you told me about?"

"No," Cassandra answered hurriedly, "its for you actually, from Jakob."

"A letter, for me?!" Brooke sounded entirely surprised, "a little-wittle piece of paper that'll tell me something, lemme see, lemme see!" She grabbed out for it eagerly and Cassandra handed it to her with a sigh.

Brooke peered at it, pointing to each word at a time, but being unable to read could not actually tell what they were. Finally she handed it back to Cassandra. "It tell's me only Brooke," she said, "the other words are all a hurdey gurdy of mystery.

It looked like she was going to have to face the fact sooner or later. "He's asking you to the dance," Cassandra informed her. "Will you go with him?"

The Vaporeon girl scowled. "I was going to go with Mr Weedy," she replied. "But, do you, perhaps, you know, think maybe I should go with Jakob?"

Cassandra shrugged. "It's up to you." She replied, a little sulkedly. It was okay for Brooke, she could get a date, but the Sandshrew girl knew that she would not. She wrapped her arms around her knees, unconsciously constructing a safe area about her. Brooke held the piece of paper upside down and tried to read it, before giving up. She rolled off the bed and picked up her potplant.

"Mr Weedy," she said, "would you like mind if I went to the dance-a-long with quiet Jakob?" She stared at it for a length of time. Then pouted. "Okay fine then, but I think he must dance better then you." 

The Sandshrew girl sighed and clambered off her bed. "We have to get to Human Studies," she said, sounding almost dismal. "You want to come, Brooke?"

Human Studies was a compulsory evening subject where everyone sat around a big screen and watched moving pictures made by humans. Sounds fun? Well, it was not all that entertaining. For one thing, the pictures shown were generally family movies, portraying humanity in a good light, and for another thing, every ten minutes or so the teacher would stop the picture and ask questions about it. It was intended to encourage Pookamon to stop acting like Pokemon and start acting more like people.

And the love stories were so cheesy it was ridiculous. 

Brooke shrugged, "can fish fly?" She asked.

"I'll assume that's a yes," Cassandra replied, although in all honesty, she had no idea. She scrambled off her bed and collected her books together. "Come on, we better not be late, you know how cranky Doctor Knoel can get."

"Do I?" Brooke queried innocently.

"Right now class, today we shall be watching "The Princess Bride"."

Talk about a lame title. Cassandra groaned, this promised to be another feel good movie about some princess who was in love with someone that wasn't of high standing. 

The Raticate-morph beside her groaned too. His name was Rastis and he sat beside Cassandra every week. She did not know why, but she figured it was probably so he could copy her notes. "Why can't they play a proper flick?" He groaned, "something with things going bang and fighting and aliens. Like "The Matrix"."

The Sandshrew girl had no idea what he was talking about, she simply shrugged.

The teacher fussed around handing out pieces of paper. Brooke immediately turned hers over and began drawing Doctor Knoel in surprising detail. Cassandra skimmed through the questions.

"How did Wesley show his love to Buttercup initially?" She read. And sighed. What was the picture about anyway? Mirutanku? She noticed Rastis leaning over her and peering at her paper. "The film hasn't even started yet," she snapped, "read your own damned paper!"

The Raticate muttered something and sat back in his seat, arrogantly resting his hands behind his head.

Doctor Knoel set the film rolling.

The first few minutes confused some on the Pookamon a bit, but Cassandra, being well-read could easily get the idea that it was a story with a story, so to speak, that the kid's grandfather was reading him a tale. Once she got used to it, she found herself sitting back and enjoying the film.

Until Doctor Knoel stopped it again. Rastis was gagging at the fact that there was romance at the beginning.

"Not another kissing movie," he muttered. 

Cassandra elbowed him in retalliation.

"Ow," he muttered, rubbing his side, "you're one feisty woman you know that?"

"Now class," the gangly Noctowl snapped, adjusting his glasses, "how did Wesley show his love for Buttercup?"

Cassandra sighed. Talk about ruining what could be a decent film…

Half an hour later, and most of the class were engrossed as the heroine was kidnapped, then rescued by a masked man, who turned out to be her love she had thought was dead. Even the usually obnoxious Rastis seemed somewhat quieted by this particular film, and Doctor Knoel, after a time, stopped pausing the film every five minutes and slunk outside for a quiet cigarette.

Oddly enough, noone, not even Jasper or Rastis, took advantage of the absence of teacher.

"I wanna learn to swordfight," Rastis declared after Doctor Knoel had returned and switched off the film. He jumped up on the desk and swished around an invisible blade.

"Rastis, sit down!" Doctor Knoel snapped, "and you can write a 400 word essay on romance and true love for punishement!"

"Aww man," the Raticate grumbled, and glanced up at Cassandra. "You'll help me, won't you babe?"

Cassandra growled at him.

"Now, can anyway tell me what you learnt from this film?" The Noctowl teacher asked.

A dozen hands flicked into the air.

"That sword fighting is really cool!" One of the boys announced.

"Revenge is a worthy cause!"

"That its possible to come back from the dead!"

"Never start a land war in Asia."

"That masks are quite comfortable and everyone should wear them."

"When engaged in a poison-drinking challenge, don't let the other person chose the poison."

The teacher sighed. "Yes, all very valid points, except the bit about returning from the dead – that is what we call fantasy. Cassandra?" He asked, knowing she would have the right answer.

"Um," she stumbled, aware that everyone was looking at her. Rastis snatched her piece of paper from her desk and read out the final answer for her.

"True love conquers all," he read out. "Yuck, mushy!"

"Very good Cassandra, and thank you Rastis."

"Does this mean I can get out of writing that essay?"

"No."

*

"Do you really think its true?" Cassandra asked Brooke later, when they were seated in the cafeteria enjoying a meal of spaghetti and shrunken sausages.

"No," Brooke said shaking her head, "I don't think that the cook, you know, chases Rattata's with her broom, cuts them up into teensy weensy wee pieces and adds them to the sauce."

She paused, whilst Cassandra stared at her, a little confused and a little bemused.

"I think she actually uses the bits of meat that have sunk down-down-down to the bottom of the deep fryer, where they've got all crispy brown and soaked with grease."

"I was actually talking about love conquering all," Cassandra replied, moving her sausages to the side of her plate.

Brooke went suddenly rather quiet. "Love conquers nothing," she snapped, "it opens up a world of pain that's like, you know, having a hand plunge deep into your chest and twisting and pushing and probing until it closes around you heart with claws of steel and rips it from your chest. Oh look," she added, delight in her voice, "there's a pretty flicking water falling from the sky!"

The Sandshrew girl found her appetite diminishing. "I'm going to my room," she replied, standing up.

Brooke watched her go, then twirled Cassandra's left over spaghetti around her fork as much as she could, until half the fork was wrapped in pasta, and dripping sauce onto the table. "Someone doesn't like the rain!" She said happily, and tried to eat the spaghetti, making a horrendous mess of it all.

*

There was little to be scavenged in the waste bins around the small village. Whatever the people here did with waste, it was certainly not throw it away. They probably ate it, it seemed like that kind of area. 

Azrael had spent the better part of the last week hobbling around in Umbreon form in a desperate effort to rebuilt his strength and also find some way of getting to the island. He was beginning to think that the only such way would be swimming. At least he did not hurt as much now as he had then, he almost had full use of his legs once more, although they still ached in the frosty mornings.

He trotted around the head to the little cove where he lay and watched the island, and realised that someone else was already there.

Quite a few of them from the looks of things.

This reeked of trouble, and not just to the Assassin's delicate sense of smell. There seemed something secretive about the small flock of boats and the amount of Pookamon gathered.

Azrael remembered they had planned war against the inhabitants of the Isle. And even now, perhaps, they were gathered to put that plan into action. It was early dawn, thus he still had some of his night-time powers working, and stealth, in this case, would be all important. He could not risk being caught, if they caught him, they would kill him without thought, he was a traitor, after all.

Nearby, a muscular Machamp-morph was rolling barrels onto one of the boats. Azrael could only guess that it was some sort of fuel, maybe something explosive. Near him a female Rhydon set about dragging large sacks and pushing more barrels. They were obviously prepared for some sort of onslaught on the innocent inhabitants of the Isle. He shuddered as something soared in from the sky, a large Charizard morph, twice the size of your average Charizard.

"Behold Goliath!" Came a voice, and Azrael's pupils narrowed as a familiar, fully human, man walked across the stand to greet the monstrosity before him. Beside the man stalked an impressive Persian, entirely non-morphic, but its muscles rippled powerfully beneath its cream fur. It purred and nudged Giovanni, for it was he, with its head.

For a moment there, and only a moment, Azrael entertained the thought of leaping down there and assassinating his old boss, but it was only fleeting, he had no chance against the fire of the enormous dragon, or the muscles of the fighting Pokemon.

His skill lay in stealth and planning, the powers of the darkness, in one on one warfare, he was useless. But on the other paw…

He stole closer, allowing the early morning shadows to hide his form.

The Charizard lowered its head so that Giovanni could stroke its long muzzle, loaded with dangerous teeth.

"You shall do well, my pet," he said softly to it.

"Chergh," the beast agreed.

The leader of the mutant army stood back and put his hands on his hips, surveying all around him. "And tonight, the poor souls won't know what has hit them!"

So tonight it was, was it, Azrael growled softly, gutturally. He could not allow them to destroy the final sanctuary. Tensing every muscle in his battered body, he waited until the Machoke-morph had stomped away to collect some more barrels and quickly darted across to the shadow proffered by the nearest boat.

His muscles throbbed from the exertion, he still had yet to fully heal from the wild ride down the waterway and from the beating he had received. He crouched low, feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Danger was, after all, what life was all about.

Goliath crouched back, folding its massive wings close about itself, and sitting there, staring out across the waves. You could not see the Island from the shore. In the week Azrael had been here, he had not seen the Isle once. It was hidden in a permanent shroud of distance and cloud. Possibly some type of weather controlling Pookamon had created the mist. The thought made him remember Lilith, with her strange beauty.

Who was she? What did she want of him?

How could he possible help? He was miles from the island and his only way there was aboard the dread ship.

With Giovanni's army.

So be it.

The Rhydon-morph stomped off the boat and traipsed across the sand towards a truck, partly hidden in the trees. She paused and began flexing her muscles.

And the hunter waited until she had turned her back and no-one was watching him and slunk up the runway as quickly as he could manage.

The ship was loaded with barrels, and the reek of oil. He slid in between two of the foul-smelling barrels and crouched, praying that none would notice him. Fighting Pokemon were not reknowned for their sharp eyesight and insight, and the fuel would mask his distinctive scent.

His fur tingled with apprehension. What was going on here? Obviously they were intending to assault the island with powerful Pokemon. And what possibly could one lone Umbreon do to stop it?

He sat amongst the stinking barrels and waited.

*

Dusk came, and with it the ships left shore. They were not sailing on the winds, Azrael quickly realised, but being drawn by large morphic Gyrados, fearsome looking humanoids with powerful tails. He crouched amongst the barrels, praying that he would avoid detection.

The warriors seemed unaware of his presence, and as darkness grew deeper, his confidence arouse. He stalked out and sniffed around the boat. The warriors were resting around deck, quietly staring out over the moonlit waves.

The competition was frightening, and Azrael knew if he was caught his only chance of survival lay in jumping overboard and praying. On board his ship there appeared to be a Gligar-morph, two Scythers and a Scizor, a Nidoking and Nidoqueen and a number of spearows, all humanoid in form, or at least in scent.

The captain of the ship appeared to be a Politoad, and Azrael could just see him over the small cabin. He did not wish to be caught out, as he slunk slowly towards the stern. The assassin was good at planning ahead. And to help his, well, they were hardly friends, fellow free morphs, he supposed, he would need more information, and probably some sort of boat. One of these, at least, was provided for him.

It did not take him long to reach the lifeboat, as yet undetected. He slipped into the welcoming darkness, more content in her embrace then any other. And beneath her, he assumed his human form. Now things would get more difficult, but paws were not made for operating mechanisms on boats. He crawled out after making sure the coast was clear and began to turn the handle that would set the boat on its way over the side and onto the water.

It made a screeching noise, the noise of tortured metal.

Azrael wound harder, so that the boat was suspended above the water before the first of the crew came to investigate. The Scizor, his skin a shiny red, towered over him, and snapped its scissor-like claws. 

There was only one thing to do. Azrael grasped the blackness in the Pookamon's mind and brought it sharply into his consciousness. 

The Scizor gasped for a moment, but quickly regained composure, too quickly.

These were not humans he was dealing with, but skilled fighters.

The Nidoqueen and King marched up beside it, and one of them struck out at him, sending him tumbling backwards into the boat.

The Scizor jumped in on him, his claws snapping at him, tearing out chunks of fur and skin. Azrael's Pokemon skills were useless in close combat, but his assassin skills came into action. He reached up with one hand and grasped the Scizor just behind the talon and pulling his head towards his chest he brought his muscular shoulders forward with enough force to send them both tumbling into the water.

The Scizor-morph quickly struggled to the surface, flapping its wings furiously. Bedraggled, Azrael dragged himself back aboard the boat, managing to free it from the side of the ship just before the Scizor, moving too fast to be seen, knocked him out again.

His vision flashed blue for an instant, as the lifeboat was left behind in the wake of the speeding ship. The Gyrados-morph dragging it had not even noticed the fight.

The two Nido-morphs, a little nervous of the water (with their immense weight they were more likely to sink then swim), merely watched from the back of the boat. Obviously Azrael was of no consequence, of no real threat to their plan.

Surely the Scizor would finish him off.

The Scizor morph hovered above the struggling Umbreon, pushing his head beneath the water every time he managed to flounder his way to the surface. Its wings were a bright blur, and the noise they made sounded not unlike a lawnmower. He could feel the life slipping from his lungs.

Frantically, with energy spurred on by fear of death (something he would never willingly admit to), his grasping, flailing hands managed to grab his attacker by the foot and in an instant had managed to drag it under too.

The two flailed furiously, and Azrael was definitely suffering, when suddenly the Scizor spasmed and stopped grasping, given the Umbreon the chance he needed to struggle to the surface.

The boat had hit the Scizor-morph in the back of the head, leaving it slightly dazed. Azrael clambered willingly aboard, his lungs gasping as the air rushed in to fill their hollowness.

The Scizor tried to struggle to the surface, but he kicked him under again with one foot, making the boat lurch to one side. 

Limply, the now unconscious Pookamon floated facedown in the water. Azrael pondered for a moment, then in an uncharacteristic show of sympathy, dragged the morph aboard.

He pushed on his enemy's chest, expelling the water from his lungs.

The Scizor let out a long drawn out gasp and tried to leap to his feet, staggering miserably.

"Go on," he said softly, his voice a rasp from the strain. "Kill me, why don't you?"

Azrael grunted. "I could not do that," he replied, equally quietly, "once I was you."

Th morph's eyes were surprised, and then they narrowed, and for a moment the Umbreon though he was about to take advantage of the comment and finish the assassin off, but then he sat down, and sighed.

"I know of you," he replied, "you were an assassin for Giovanni, we have hunted you these last few months."

"That is I," Azrael did not really feel like discussing matters further.

"I admired you," the Scizor admitted, "that you managed to outwit us for so long. Tell me, what is to stop me killing you now?"

"Gratitude," he replied simply. "I could have left you to die, but I did not."

The Scizor-morph scowled. "Oh, you thought to save me and hold my honour at ransom," he growled. 

"I am not noted for my kindness," was all the assassin replied. "You will not kill me, your kin are burdened with honour."

The Scizor hung his head. "Alas it is so. You have saved my life, so it is my duty to aid you."

Only now did the Umbreon allow a small, almost sad, smile to feature on his face. "I need to get to the Isle," he said, "before Giovanni and his cohorts." He dragged a coil of rope from under the seat, where it had been neatly lodged. "And Scizor, I believe, are well noted for their swift flight."

The Scizor shook its head sadly. "I am bound to help you," he replied, "but must I do so in such a demeaning fashion?"

Azrael nodded. "There are innocent Pookamon on that Island that are our kin, perhaps even our family, and Giovanni is waging war on them merely because he wants to try out his army. They are no threat to you. On your honour as a Pokemon Ninja, do you not understand that what he is doing is wrong?"

"It is the way I have always been taught." The Scizor nodded. "But I also understand that those poor souls on the island are of no threat to us, and never will be. I too have seen the madness in Giovanni's eyes." He closed his eyes for a long minute. "I shall help you, Azrael, Angel of Death." He proffered his hand to the bedraggled assassin.

The Umbreon accepted it graciously. "And I thank you for it," he paused for a moment.

The Scizor saw his discomfit. "I am Blade," he replied.

"I thank you, Blade."

*

"Be careful down there!" Cassandra shouted down at the Bulbasaur holding the ladder in place. She stood on tiptoe to hang another brightly coloured heart amongst the dozens that covered the walls already. The art classes had been busy, cutting love hearts from cardboard and the shapes of bluebirds and doves. 

Cassandra, not been particularly artistic with her clawed hands, had been given hanging duties. The hall had taken on a transformation. The walls were hung with a ghastly array of pinks and reds hung from strings of silver and there was a throne at one end surrounded by petals. This was where happy couples were going to have their photos taken.

And someone had hung a disco ball in the middle of the dancefloor. Cassandra could not help feeling a little bit sad that she would have no one to spend this apparently happy occasion with. But no one had asked, not a single person. She had not even seen Nothing since the day in the sun porch, although, truth be told, she had been too scared to go back there and had not even returned his book yet. What could she say to him? She could barely talk to Jakob, how would she manage to talk to the beautiful Ninetails? 

She clambered carefully down the stepladder, reflecting how height was something she did not necessarily get along well with. 

"So, huh-who are yuh-you going wuh-wuh-with?" Jakob asked her, she doubted he cared for an answer, merely was trying to fill in dead air.

Cassandra shrugged. "Brooke I guess," she replied.

"You cah-can't go with a-a girl!" The Bulbasaur laughed. "You-ou shuh-should go with muh-my room muh-mate, he's too chuh-chicken to ask anyone."

"I don't mind," Cassandra replied, "I'll be fine by myself."

"Wuh-whatever." Jakob grinned at something across the other side of the room, and suddenly darted off. The Delibird chef had brought in refreshments. Instantly Jakob's vine whips short out, surreptiously grabbing handfuls of crackers and cake and pocketing them.

And she had thought he was going to ask her to the dance. It was probably a relief he hadn't. I mean, really…

*

"Are you really taking the potplant?" Cassandra asked, staring almost stupidly at Brooke.

"Mr Leafy wants to go," she insisted, trying to make a bowtie stay on the stem of the potplant. "He'll look oh-so-pretty just like a skip-e-loom."

"I don't think I'm gonna go," Cassandra sat on the bed and buried her head in the pillow. "No one'll miss me, no one'll even notice for goodness sake."

She felt the movement as Brooke sat beside her and started to stroke her hair.

"But you got yourself a pretty dress!" She exclaimed, "you got to go and daze the lights, dazzling the brightness, the men, you know, will fall over their feet to get to your beacon." She paused, "I bet they'll have cookies too!"

"I don't think so." 

"Mr Leafy says you can come with us, he don't mind if I like share him with you, you're my bestest friend and I want you to be all happy and smily-nice, not all frowny and wet-cheeked."

Cassandra gave in, sometimes there was no arguing with Brooke.

"Very well." She said, rolling over. "Let's get dressed."

After much fiddling around and unjamming of zippers, the two girls were ready for the party. Brooke had chosen a long shirt with puffy sleeves and a long skirt, from beneath the hem her delicate blue feet peeked, the Vaporeon girl would never wear shoes if she could at all avoid it. Cassandra stared at herself in the mirror, brushing her waist length hair. Sure, she was still short and stocky, with a body that was plump where it should be small and small where it should be plump, but the dress had some effect. It seemed to hide her chubby hips and waistline, whilst accentuating her bosom. She would not be winning any prizes however, unlike Brooke. There was just something about Brooke, with her flowing shirt, long skirt and bared feet that seemed somehow right.

Cassandra began the awkward effort of forcing her ugly feet into the knee high leather boots her roommate had convinced her to purchase. They were as uncomfortable as binding your foot and leg up in leather, but at least they hid her ugly, horny toes. There was not much she could do about her tail though.

Brooke knelt behind her. She began gently brushing the Sandshrew-girl's hair, so that it was smooth and glistened in the light.

"You're gonna look all pretty, just like rainbows and cotton candy," the vaporeon exclaimed. "The boy's eyes will go all rumble-tumble down to the ground and then they'll have to, you know, bend over and pick them up and put them back in again or they won't be able to look at anything ever again."

"Thanks," Cassandra replied, unsure of what more to add.

It was some time before the two girls made it into the dance hall. Brooke immediately squeezed Cassandra's hand and jumped joyously into the air, clapping her hands and shrieking happily.

"Ooh, this is so pretty bright, look at the colours, all sparkly and the shiny spinny sphere. Someone caught the moon? I wonder how they managed that. It's all so pretty nice!"

Cassandra smiled meekly. It was nice, and the same thing that occurred in High School dances the world over had happened here. On one side of the room (the room nearest the table), the boys had gathered and were pretending to be interested desperately in the punch and small plates of crackers with cheese, whereas the girls stood in a group on the other side, all giggling and whispering amongst themselves. Brooke carefully repositioned Mr Leafy in the crook made by her elbow. 

"This is going to be so much fun," Cassandra muttered sarcastically as old rock music pumped over the loudspeakers;

"… I gave you all a boy could give you and that's just how it has to be…"

She sat down by herself. Brooke stood beside her, glancing at the gaggle of girls as if wondering whether or not she dared venture towards them. Immediately Ray swaggered over. His general posture and behaviour implied that he had found himself some of the "illegal" substances. Alcohol was banned in Seaview, although it was still manufactured in the village. He seemed a little unstable on his feet.

"Hey there miladies!" He said, slurring a little, "how's about a bit of the ol' tail shaking."

Cassandra was amused to see her roommate give him such a look of disgust that it almost made her burst out laughing. She had to disguise it behind a cough.

"I'd rather just stay here in the corner with my pretty friend and my date with his pretty little leaves." She began fondling one of Mr Leafy's leaves.

Ray stared at the Vaporeon in disgust, "you're one sick lil' gal!" He muttered and then turned his eyes to Cassandra, "but you on the other hand…" Cassandra turned a stunning shade.

Suddenly Brooke stomped on his foot, "stop making my friend all embarrassed and red like!" She shrieked, although her bare foot would have had little impression on the Electric Pokemorph's boots. "You can't talk to her like that."

The Jolteon shook his head, almost sadly. "Oh for goodness sake, can't you take a little praise for once in your life?"

"Nope!" Brooke replied proudly.

He sighed and stalked back to his side of the room, occasionally casting a dark glare in their direction.

"Brooke," Cassandra hissed, "what did you scare him away for?" She was somewhat peeved. An attractive young man had just shown her attention, _her_, and Brooke had gone and directed him elsewhere. It just wasn't fair! Was her roommate jealous? But that didn't make sense because Brooke could have any man she wanted! And Cassandra. Well, Cassandra had no one. And never would.

"He smelt bad, like something that would be crazy mad and do stuff you really wouldn't want done to you, all nasty and evil and…" words escaped her here and she merely shuddered. "You'd have to be crazy to want a guy like that!"

"Are you living for love, are you living forever." A deep voiced man and a woman crooned over the PA.

Brooke glanced at the empty dance floor. "Mr Leafy and I are going to dance, you wanna join us, Cassandi?"

Cassandra frowned. She did not really want to be seen on the dance floor with a woman dancing with a potplant, but on the other hand, she could hardly stand in the corner, could she just? Not all alone.

She followed Brooke onto the dance floor. And then out of the corner of her eye she saw him.

The Ninetails who had said he was Nothing.

He was reading a book. He did not even glance her way. She glanced away and stared at her feet. The shoes were uncomfortable, they were choking her feet. She wanted to take them off, but beneath them her feet were ugly and deformed, covered in plates of hardened skin. Better to leave them covered. She watched Brooke instead.

The vaporeon was holding the pot plant in both hands and spinning around on the dance floor. Her tail and her skirt swished around with her making her look so graceful and beautiful.

Cassandra _almost_ wanted to strangle her. She hobbled onto the floor and made a few awkward twirls, stepping on the hem of her skirt, she stumbled and tried to catch her balance, but her heels were too high and she slipped over. The floor hurt her and she could not hold back the tears. She clambered to her feet and staggered blindly away. Behind her she heard snickers and knew they came from Ray and his friends.

Sometimes she hated life. Saffire would never look at her now.

She ducked around a corner and sat down, unable to hold back the tears. Brooke came after her and crouched beside her.

"Mr Leafy will make you feel better," she said, handing over the pot plant. "You hurt yourself in nasty bad fall with those high but pretty shoes?"

"Only my pride," Cassandra replied.

Brooke patted her on the knee, "you want me to stay, keep you happy and help you back to your room?" 

Cassandra shook her head. "Nah, go have fun, I'll be alright in a while."

The Vaporeon-girl still looked doubtful. Cassandra forced a smile at her, "honest."

"Well, keep Mr Leafy there," she replied, patting the pot affectionately. "I'll return when the moon spins full circle and my legs hurt."

"That's fine," Cassandra replied. She wanted to be left alone, at least for now. This dance was the nightmare she had known it would be, the nightmare she had been waiting for all along.

She could not remember her time before the Change, and she could not remember her days before meeting Brooke, it was as if the meeting with the Vaporeon had released something in her, released the life, so to speak. She had not even seen it necessary to give herself a name – Brooke had done so, there had been no one to call her by it. She remembered pain, and loneliness, and being chased by humans and Pokemon alike. There had always just been her. No one else. It seemed she had always been lonely.

The song had finished now and a new one was playing, another slow one, one that made her think of long summer afternoons, although she could not work out why.

"As we walk through fields of gold…."

She began sobbing to herself. Behind her, she could hear joyous sounds of laughter and imagined that someone was dancing with someone else. She leaned over the back of the table and saw Brooke was dancing with Jakob, he was spinning her around with his vine whips.

And in the corner Ray was quietly throwing up whilst his brother held his hair back, and muttered to himself.

Well, Brooke didn't need her anymore, that much was obvious, so she might as well just head off. Going back to the room would be fine, then she could read this new book she had found in the library. Her friend probably wouldn't even notice.

She had just slipped through the doors, when she walked into someone, staggering madly. Strong hands reached out and supported her. 

"I'm dreadfully sorry," she muttered to he whom she had bumped into.

"Oh, it is entirely my fault, madam," said an almost upper-class voice, "I must apologise for colliding with you, you see, I was in too much of a hurry."

She looked up for the first time and their eyes met. She almost swooned in surprise. For, not only was he desperately handsome, but he was also a Sandslash!

She found her voice escaping her.

He smiled. "And why would you be leaving the celebration so soon?" He asked. "Are you not enjoying yourself?"

"Nuh-not really." Her voice was betraying her. She found herself focusing on the ground.

"That is not good," the Sandslash said shaking his head. "For such a young lady to not be having a good time, perhaps you might like to dance with me?"

Cassandra barely had the courage to nod, as he linked his arm in hers and led her onto the dance floor. She staggered in her new shoes.

He shook his head and tutted. "No, those are pointless, why do you not show off your lovely feet? One cannot be expected to dance in such ridiculous footwear."

Almost as if unable to disobey, Cassandra removed her boots and put them in the corner. 

"Much better!" he said, bowing before her. "By the way, my name is Phineaus , but you may call me Phin."

Cassandra chuckled. "I'm Cassandra," she whispered.

"A lovely name for a lovely lady!" He took her hand and gently kissed it. "Now, let us dance!"

He swept her onto the dance floor, putting one arm around her waist and spinning her around. She felt light in the head. 

"Would you be my pale empress, my haven in the gale, would you be my shelter strong?"

The music washed over her senses and the feeling of man pressed so close to her made her giddy with joy. She had never been this close to anyone, and she did not even know who he was. And, oddly enough, she didn't care.

Nothing mattered. She was floating in clouds.

The song ended and another began, but she barely noticed. It felt as though there were noone in the world but her and Phin. So when he drew his muzzle close to her and kissed her, it took a moment for her to pull back in surprise. She had never kissed anyone before, certainly not like this! It made her brain feel like jelly and caused a pleasant warm sensation down in her stomach.

"Are you okay, milady?" He asked, concern on his fine features.

She nodded mutely, grinning like a maniac. "Need air," she managed to gasp after a while.

He grinned. "As you wish my dear, I shall even lead you to the door."

She tried to object, but he would have none of it, and escorted her to the door. It was dark outside, the air pleasantly cool against her plates.

"How about we take a seat under this tree here," Phin said smoothly, "it is a pleasant night, is it not?" He stood beneath the tree and leaned against it.

Cassandra was about to agree with him, when something happened that scared the hades out of her.

Suddenly out of nowhere hands grabbed her, hands that were hot against her skin.

"Nice one there Phin!" Said a sly voice that literally dripped with evil and sarcasm.

"Always a pleasure boss," Phin said, his voice losing some of its charm.

"What are you doing!" Cassandra kicked and struggled, but a large hand, the skin hard like a hoof, was placed over her mouth.

"Making a new acquisition," said the sly voice again, "come along boys."

Cassandra fought, but her captor was strong and quickly she was dragged away from campus.

"Why are you doing this?" She asked, panic rising in her voice.

The sly voiced man, whom she could see in the darkness was a Vulpix, but completely unlike Nothing. His eyes were amber, a flat, lifeless amber and a scar ran almost right across one of them. He had a cruel set to his features. She disliked him immensely already. He grinned, showing his fangs, "because we have been paid to," he replied. "It appears you, my dear, are of great interest to the Master." The smile flickered coldly, "Pierce, render her uncommunicable."

And then there was blackness.

*

Something was scrabbling in the floor beneath the bed. The young man sat up, sweeping back his long blue hair. It was badly in need of a wash, his injuries had been taken care of, but it seemed his hygiene had been left to the gods to sort out. He had been there a week now, and his wounds were mostly healed. He could walk now, although he was still stiff and he had suffered a bout of influenza after his dunking. Thankfully, the Blissey nurse had been more then wonderful and he had made an almost full recovery. He put his feet on the floor and stood up, staggering over to the tiny washbasin in the medical bay. The cool water was crisp against his skin, beautiful. He filled himself a glass of water and drank it. 

Something fell over downstairs with a crash.

Okay, this was too much, all that was downstairs was the store room and noone was supposed to go there, save for the nurses, and the nurses would never be so clumsy.

James made his way out the door and towards the doorway to the storeroom. It was slightly ajar. He peered down into the gloom, but there was no way he could see down there, except for a small purple glow, so slight as to be barely noticeable. Curiosity was not one of his vices, but he had to investigate anyway, if not to satisfy himself then to stop any risk of danger to his friends and kin. He grabbed the fire extinguisher and crept downstairs. 

It took his eyes a while to adjust to the darkness, but years of working against Giovanni had given James skills he had never learned in Team Rocket. He could move as silently as a Meowth in near darkness (although not as silent as an Umbreon). The purple light helped. There was a small, almost childlike shape standing in the middle of the storeroom, and there was something very familiar about it. James could not see exactly what it was doing, but he knew it was wrong.

"Hey you!" He shouted, stepping into its vision.

It whirled and he startled as he recognised it.

Mystik.

The Nyura-girl turned and spat at him and his head exploded with a thousand fires. But James had experienced such attacks from Azrael before and expected it. His finger, resting lightly on the trigger of the fire extinguisher depressed and shrouded Mystik in dry ice.

Coughing and spluttering, he pushed through the smoke to grab her, but she had gone, completely. As the dry ice cleared he saw what she had been doing.

A complex mechanism made from store-room supplies and sat on the table. It was such a tangled mass of wires, all of the same dull grey colour, that James had not a hope of recognising anything. A counter was randomly flicking through a bunch of numbers at a rate of one pre second. Whoever had set this bomb had not wanted to risk it being defused. And Mystik had set it.

His reflexes were quick, he wasted no time trying to defuse it – it was so complicated and filled with bits that it would take an expert hours to work out what did what, and James was not an expert and probably did not have hours. He sprinted up the stairs, almost slipping on the way. He had to assume this was not the only bomb, that there were others around the building. Luckily he knew the Valentine's Dance was on tonight. Everyone would be there.

He ran to the nearest fire alarm, shattered the glass with the fire extinguisher and activated the alarm. And then he made for the nearest fire escape. There was no telling how much time he had. Or how much time any of them had.

He was almost to the door when the first bomb exploded, the sound audible over the screech of the alarms. The floor buckled behind him and a heat wave washed over him, but luckily he was far enough from the blaze to avoid being turned into a smear on the floor. It was still strong enough to incinerate his clothing across the back and to throw him through the glass door and outside. Pieces of wood and other lovely shrapnel showered down around him. He had only fallen from the ground floor, James reflected, which was something of an improvement. 

His last thoughts before he fainted from shock, was that he hoped Brooke and Cassandra had got out okay. Then he blacked out.

*

Strong hands dragged him to his feet and something slapped him in the face. He moaned and forced his eyes open.

"Wake up sleepy," said a familiar voice.

"Azrael?" He stuttered. Of all the last people he wanted to see!

"Don't sound so thankful boy, you are just lucky that Blade here saw you from the sky."

The man peered and could just, through his blurred vision, make out the shape of a red Pookamon with large scorpion like claws and wings. The Scizor said nothing, merely crossed its arms on its chest and stared straight at him. His gaze was as unfaltering as Mystik's.

"Mystik… traitor…." He managed to stutter, before his knees gave way and he fell again.

***

__

Nothing

Peering over his book, Nothing felt the jealousy rise in him as he watched Cassandra dance with the handsome Sandslash. When the two of them left the building together, the jealousy had almost reached boiling point. He did not know whether to cry or go after them and beat the porcupine pookamon to a pulp. Why should he be jealous anyway? What did he have to offer Cassandra, aside from a selection of reading material? He had never managed to hang onto anyone he loved for long, they had died, all of them, he was cursed.

And Amelia, poor sweet Amelia, she whom he had betrayed.

Who was he kidding, he didn't deserve anyone.

He was about to sink into the pit of despair when his roommate skipped over. The kid was high on sugar and exceitement.

"Nuh-nothing, thu-this is suh-so much fuh-un!" The Bulbasaur-boy stuttered. He was holding a cookie in one vine and a glass of punch in the other.

The Ninetails smiled. "I'm glad you're enjoying it kid." He liked Jakob, even if the kid was a compulsive thief. He had taken to hiding stuff under his bed, but recently he had found something he had hidden in the mattress sitting on Jakob's desk covered in smudge marks. It wasn't that the boy stole out of spite or cruelty, merely that he did not see anything wrong with doing so. After having the note soiled by his roomie, Nothing had lost all courage to deliver it. It was now a crumpled heap in the bottom of his rubbish bin.

He tried to attract Brooke's attention, but the girl had started a rather bizarre vine-and-tail dance with an attractive Chikorita-morph. There was no attracting her attention. Should he start to worry? Cassandra had been gone only a few minutes.

Then the fire alarm went off.

Instant pandemonium insued. The Pookamon had never got used to fire drills and the sound of the alarm meant danger. Several dived under the tables, as though it were an air raid siren, but most of the others bolted straight for the doorway.

Nothing glanced at the hoards and dived onto the dance floor, grabbing Brooke in one arm and the Chikorita girl in the other. Both protested loudly. He half carried, half dragged them not to the main doors, which were being blocked by struggling morphs, but through to the bathrooms, where he knew the windows were big enough to allow one pokemon to climb through at a time. Jakob ran after him.

"Change form!" He shouted, and the Chikorita obeyed instantly. "Jakob, Chikorita, pull off the bars with your vines!"

You ain't my trainer! The Chikorita snapped, but obeyed him anyway. With both Grass pokemon dragging on the bars, they quickly broke lose and first the Chikorita-girl scrambled through, then Jakob, also in full pokemon form.

Brooke followed them quietly, although she seemed to be wanting to go back for something. As soon as she was through he turned into a Ninetails and sprang easily through the opening.

The other Pokemon had not even thought to change form.

The four of them scampered across the ground, towards the shelter of the trees.

Brooke suddenly turned and tried to run back. Nothing whirled quickly and grabbed her tail in his teeth. She screamed as though in intense agony, although he was only holding, not biting.

Mr Leafy! The Vaporeon whimpered, must save Mr Leafy from nasty-bad flames.

You go back in there Brooke, and you will die, Nothing mumbled around her tail. It's just a pot plant!

Brooke spat water in his face, causing him to recoil in pain. Not just any plant, its Mr Leafy, he's my friend and my date!

She broke free and ran back toward the building. The water had hurt him and he could not catch up. But luckily two sets of vine whip sliced through the air, grasping Brooke about the body and dragging her back.

And at that moment the building exploded.

It started small, with the wood rippling, then all the windows that had glass in them exploded outwards, slicing through the air at deadly velocity. Instinctively Nothing put his head between his front paws as shrapnel cut through his thick fur. Brooke screamed, a truly heart rendering sound.

Mr Leafy!!!

And then, there was silence, save for the snap and crackle as flames overtook the dancehall, and other parts of the campus.

And then he began to worry about Cassandra. There had been an attack, and he could not remember seeing the Sandslash around before. There had to be some sort of foul play.

Jakob, Chikorita-girl…

My name is Midori, she growled in reply, but Nothing was too worried to care.

Look after Brooke, I have to go. He yipped, and before they could object he was off across the grass towards the main entrance.

Poor Mr Leafy… Brooke wept, he was my friend, I loved him and now he's dead in the land of black and coldness.

And the two Grass Pokemon wrapped their vines around her, comforting her, and comforting themselves, for they too had lost their homes. And possibly their friends.

*

The ground passed beneath his paws. The Ninetails was in too much of a hurry to change form into the less mobile humanoid form. He hurried around the building to where the other morphs were gathered, may of them sobbing and hurt. Some, he noted, had changed form. There was no sign nor scent of Cassandra amongst them. He moved further away and sat beneath a weeping willow tree, feeling heavy in his heart. Was he about to lose another person from his life? Someone who had the potential to be a lifetime companion?

Even if in their natural state he would be the predator, she the prey.

Suddenly a scent came to his nostrils. That of Vulpix. He fur rankled at this particular odour. Vulpix and Ninetails had very strong scents, sometimes even noticeable to human noses, and there was no mistaken this aroma, or the bitter taste it brought to his olfactory glands.

This was no normal Vulpix, this Vulpix reeked of badness. There was no better way to describe it. He examined the area more fully, finding what he wanted to find but was also longing not to find here. Not with the smell of a foul fox along with it.

Something was very amiss.

He could smell Cassandra's sweet earthy aroma, intermingled with the stronger, masculine tang of the Sandslash and the hot, almost spicy aroma of a Rapidash. They had captured her, he guessed, from the fear-smell she had exuded. And he would have to find her and rescue her.

Nose to the ground, he began to follow the rather obvious scent trail.

*

"Hey, I hate to break it to you, Ren, but I think we are being followed." Cassandra was draped over the shoulders of the muscular Rapidash-morph, and it was he who had just spoken.

"Figures," the Vulpix growled. "Well, Phin, stay here and stop him from coming any closer."

Cassandra grunted through the haze of confusion. She had no idea where she was, or why that had captured her. She had regained consciousness some time ago, but was lying quiet, in the desperate hope that they would not realise and deal her another blow to the head.

So who was following her? She hoped it was someone a bit more capable then Brooke. Brooke would stand only a whisper of a chance against these rogues.

"As you command, Renardo," Phin sighed. "But I rather hoped to find out why the Boss wanted this particular girl. I mean, she's nothing special really, a passable dancer perhaps, but hardly an experienced kisser and, well, what's so different between her and the pretty Vaporeon girl?"

It took all of her energy to hold back her tears. She had actually for a moment thought someone had liked her, found her attractive. And it had all been a scam.

"So you want me to kill him, Renardo?" Phin asked.

"If needs must, my friend, if needs must."

__

Him, Cassandra thought. Who could it be?

And then Pierce began moving again and she was taken away, her questions unspoken and unanswered.

*

The fox flattened himself to the ground and something immense soared over, but whatever it was, its target was the village and it paid him no heed. His nostrils flared. Something was wrong up ahead. He could smell ambush.

Well, he was not about to fall for that one! He circled the scent trail. It had now led him off campus and into the wild forested area to the north of the University. He saw his ambusher and grinned to himself.

Why, it was the Sandslash-man. It would give him some pleasure to kick that rodent's spiny butt. 

Nothing alerted the porcupine-morph to his presence with a well aimed ice beam.

Instantly the humanoid turned and, reeling somewhat from the cold shock, came at him, jumping into the air and transforming at the same instant so that he could roll into a tight ball (something impossible with a human's spine). His nice suit tore to shreds around him and fell to the ground, although shreds of cloth were caught in his spines.

He fired off some of the quills and Nothing had to dodge swiftly to avoid the poisoned barbs. As the Sandslash hit the ground, sending dirt spraying in his wake, Nothing braced himself and the moment it unfurled he aimed a ray of light from his pale eyes into the Sandslash's, in a desperate attempt to confuse it.

The Sandslash unfurled and started slicing madly through the air, but the ray must have had some effect because most of the slashes went wide and the others the Ninetails managed to dodge, although one slice caught him in the right flank and he rolled over whimpering.

Instantly the Sandslash was upon him, slicing with those deadly claws.

Without giving it a chance to hit, Nothing took a deep breath and aimed an ice spin attack straight in his opponent's face.

His opponent was forced back with the freezing beam, not that different from fire spin, save for the element.

Bleeding from a dozen cuts, Nothing limped over to his fallen combatant. He stood over the mostly frozen Sandslash.

I could kill you, he said, but I shall not, if you answer me these questions. Why did you capture Cassandra? Where is she being taken?

The Sandslash gazed up at him with glazed eyes. Renardo, he whispered in reply, paid money…. Take her to Boss…

And what is he going to do with her.

Don't know, not told.

Nothing grunted and kicked dirt on the fallen Sandslash. Be thankful I am not like most of my kin, he snarled, and darted away.

His chest was slashed, his white fur marred with blood, but he had a mission to do, and he would do it well.

He must find Cassandra, for whatever their "boss" had planned, it could not be pleasant and would be nothing compared to what he would do to them, when he caught them.

"He made it through?" Renardo snarled, lowering the binoculars. "That's inconceivable!"

"Well, to be completely frank Ren," Pierce replied, "it would only be inconceivable were Phin actually a competent fighter. I have, quite frankly, seen a woman fight better then that."

"Well, it looks like its your turn now, Pierce."

"My turn? But I have to carry the girl!"

"What do you take me for? A bloody Bellsprout? I can carry a wisp of a girl as well as you can. Or are you scared of a little fox?"

The Rapidash snorted, and Cassandra's heart leapt. Fox, it had to be Nothing, or Saffire or whatever his name was.

Maybe he did like her after all!

She tried to keep her breathing shallow as the Rapidash reluctantly handed her to Renardo.

She hated him immediately. He smelt like old socks and sweat and hidden lust and poor hygiene. He smelled evil. Of course, all fox-types smelt strong, yet she had not considered it a bad smell on Nothing.

One horrid hand rubbed up her body, caressing her lightly in her delicate areas, as though the Vulpix were dying for a cheap thrill. She could not hold back the shudder it invoked and Renardo noticed immediately. He flung her over his shoulder in an easy move.

"You try anything girl, and you'll be real sorry!" He snarled, "now Pierce, kill the stinking fox. Phin was weak, but you're a much better fighter then him." He patted Cassandra on the butt, "now me and the lady are off for a bit of fun before you fail too."

He hurried off, leaving the Rapidash pacing in the glade.

Pain and blood loss was starting to make Nothing light headed and slowing his gait. He was no longer putting his full attention into the tracking and thus his first notification on the presence of the Rapidash was when the hooves missed crushing his skull by half a inch.

He rolled over as the hooves crashed down again.

I guess you're one of the Sandslash's friends? Nothing stated as he dodged another deadly blow.

You killed my friend, the fire horse snarled. You deserve what you get!

Nothing did not bother to clarify that statement. He rolled into a crouch and hit the horned horse with a confuse ray. At the last moment the Rapidash reared and it went wild, through his thick mane. Smoke began to plume from his nostrils.

Knowing that fire versus ice Pokemon was not a good thing, Nothing darted between the horse's legs as fast as he could move. The heat seared through the ground behind him, turning the grass into steam and removing the tip of one tail. The Rapidash whirled sharply, bringing his hooves down again, one of them painfully grazing Nothing's shoulder. 

The Ninetails lunged upwards, closing his jaws about the larger horse's throat.. It screamed as his teeth pierced flesh and brought the strong coppery taste of blood to his throat. The Rapidash bucked sharply, sending Nothing crashing to the ground, with a sizeable chunk of its chest muscle in his mouth.

The many wounds he had suffered were beginning to ache now, and he barely managed to crawl around in time as the Rapidash aimed another fire spin at his head.

In the instant before it hit, he managed to curl his tails up over his head, providing some protection from the flames that tore through his fur, melting it away in patches.

The heat was unbearable.

And then, nothing, no follow up, anything.

Very carefully he moved one now naked tail aside to peer at his attacker. The Rapidash had fallen to its knees and was changing into humanoid form as it fell.

"Go to her," he groaned, "you deserve her more then that bastard fox."

And then the horse-morph passed out.

The naked, scarred and burned Ninetails staggered over the rise and was welcomed by a greeting.

"I see you have finally decided to join the party," the orange-furred Vulpix growled. He was sitting on a rock, Cassandra in his lap. There was a knife pushed against her throat. "Nah, ah ah," the Vulpix tisked, "you stay right there, snowy. One more move and the lovely lady here will find a new attachment in her neck, and we can't have that, can we just?"

Nothing stood still. "What do you want with her?"

"Ah," the Vulpix grinned, "we're going to play that game are we? Tell the hero what you're doing so that he can know for later, if, and I find this highly unlikely, he wins." He shook his head. "Know only this, snowy, the boss has offered us rather a nice sum of money for the capture of this here lady. Now, I can't tell you why she's so special, and I can't let her go. So, I guess its you loss my friend."

"You really are something," Nothing snarled, his hands clenching as he held back his rage, forcing it down. "But you would not kill him, your boss wants her alive!"

He took a step forward and the Vulpix pressed the blade close to her throat, drawing blood.

Cassandra gasped.

The holding back his aggression was almost getting to too much for the Ninetails.

"Now, let's see," the evil Vulpix said slyly, "you've defeated my Sandslash, so you must be pretty strong, and you must have defeated poor ol' Pierce, which means your rather agile, but I doubt, however that you have the brains to defeat me."

"You're pretty smug", Nothing muttered, "when you consider that I am evolutionarily superior to you."

"Not quite," the Vulpix tried to explain, "you see, you may be a Ninetails, and I may be just a Vulpix, but I have trained with the masters whilst you, my friend, have been hiding away in the hallways of that stupid establishment."

"Oh really," Nothing muttered, overcome by the utter arrogance of this prat and wanting to tear him to shred right then and there. "How about I propose a little competition then?"

"This gets more and more interesting," the Vulpix grinned. "Why, but of course, what in fact do you propose?"

Nothing grinned. "Well, as fire type pokemon, we are weak against water, and therefore cannot drink it as other races do, so this is my proposition. We have two cups, one containing pure water, the other containing your preferred beverage, which I would guess would be alcoholic?"

"Gin," the Vulpix replied, looking interested. He moved one arm to grab a knapsack and removed from it two mugs and a waterskin. "I don't carry water though."

"Of course you don't, but luckily your fighter Sandslash does," he drew out a flask. "Now, pass me the mugs, I shall pour alcohol into one and water into the other, knowing fill well that pure water inside us can be almost deadly."

The Vulpix nodded impatiently. "It causes stomach cramps and seizures," he replied, "get along with it."

"Very well, just making sure we understand each other." Nothing turned his back to the Vulpix and filled the two mugs. He turned back and placed them on the rock, which the Vulpix, still dragging Cassandra, had vacated. "Now, chose your beverage and we shall both pick ours up and drink it down in one gulp."

The Vulpix stared at the mugs. "Well," he said, "it is true that a wise person would never put the water in front of themselves, but, you, knowing that would have done so, because you know that I am not stupid therefore would see through that one. Therefore, you would not put the water in front of me."

Nothing made no reply, merely watched with a bland expression on his face.

"But, tis true that you know I would figure that one out, so you would not put the water in front of yourself."

Nothing tried to hide a chuckle, "so where did I put it then? In front of her?"

"Shut up!" The Vulpix snapped as he went through complicated movements in his head. It was almost amusing, but Nothing tried to hide his Mirth. He could not afford to anger this madman. Suddenly the Vulpix seemed to focus on something behind him.

"Pierce, Phin, you're not dead after all?!" The Vulpix was so convincing that Nothing actually turned and looked, but there was, of course, nothing to be seen.

As he turned back, he saw the opponent picking up his own mug and reached for the one in front of him.

True to form, they both drank it down straight.

The Vulpix broke out in laughter, "hey, you fell for the oldest trick in the book! I switched the mugs, I switched the…" He started jerking uncontrollably as the water took effect on his internal organs.

"It made no difference," Nothing explained to the fitting Vulpix as he stepped over the rock and picked up Cassandra. "They were both water. You see, I am not your typical fire pokemon – I am ice trained, and whilst Ice Pokemon are weak to water from the outside, we suffer no ill effects to it on the inside." He kicked the Vulpix. "You really are a stupid fox."

Cassandra, against her normal shyness threw herself into Nothing's arms with so much force she almost sent him sprawling.

"You saved me! I was so scared!"

"Easy there girl," he replied, chuckling as he set her on the ground. "I'm a little battered too you know." She looked down and noticed two things at once – firstly, that her clothing was covered in blood and secondly that her saviour was completely naked.

She began to look down in embarrassment, unfortunately, because of her position, that meant she was now staring directly at the one area of the Ninetail's she did not wish to focus on. She turned away, her face a brilliant scarlet.

She felt his hand on her shoulder. "Don't be alarmed," he said softly, "I would never do anything to hurt you." He turned away and held the gasping, struggling Vulpix down with one foot whilst removing his clothing and attiring himself in it. He was taller then the Vulpix, but it did manage to cover the offending areas and also to mop up some of the blood.

He turned back to Cassandra and put one arm on her shoulder, drawing her towards him. He stroked her cheek with the other hand, brushing her long hair from her face.

"You're someone special, Cassandra," he said softly, putting his hand under her chin so he forced her to look in his eyes.

"I, I am?"

"Yes, you are, and I would be honoured, Cassandra, if you would perhaps allow me to court you in the, err, human manner."

She had to laugh, she didn't want to offend him, but she just had to laugh from all the stress and fear being removed and him talking of courting in a human way. He chuckled with her. 

"Is that a yes?"

She nodded mutely, too excited to trust herself to talk and suddenly his arms were about her, lifting her up to his face as though she were a lightweight, and then he kissed her.

And suddenly everything was beautiful.

*

"So Mystik proved to be the spy," Azrael mused as the three of them sat in the shelter of some trees, watching the building burn. The Umbreon was tending to James's many injuries, whilst Blade stood beside them, staring out at the flames.

"Why does he do this?" He said softly, his pincers clicking softly. "Why cause such pain and fear?

"You know better then I do," Azrael replied, "he feeds on their death, and feeds his minions with lies."

"You really hate him, don't you?" The Ninja's voice was flat, almost devoid of emotion.

"He told me untruths about the most important thing in my life," he answered, "I hate him more then anything else, more then myself for believing him."

James grinned crookedly. "You and me both," he muttered.

"I have wondered myself, if his cause is a worthy one," Blade continued. "He lacks compassion – even for his armies. He told us that the inhabitants of the Isle were planning for war – intending to overthrow us. But I see now that they are not. They are not even able to cope with a few bombs. See how they huddle together in the open, making a target for themselves."

"So why did Giovanni plan to attack the isle?" Azrael asked, helping James into a sitting position against the tree's trunk.

Blade shrugged. "His agenda is all but unknown to us, officially, but rumours do fly. It is suggested that all of this is over one Pookamon, one Pookamon who contains inside it the genetic code that he most requires for the next stage in his plan."

"And what would that be?"

"I wish I knew," he replied gloomily. "But surely it is something selfish, if there is one thing Giovanni craves, it is power. It is said that once, some years ago, he had immense power, but it was lost. And now he desires its return."

"And this is the monster we've all worked for," James groaned.

"Well, no more," Azrael replied, "surely their must be other deserters, surely not everyone is power hungry and crazed as he!"

"You should meet Goliath," Blade replied, "it is the most wicked 'morph ever created. There is human DNA in that thing, and Charizard, and I would guess enough steroids to make its body grow and its brain shrink." He shuddered. "I think the creation of that monster was what first laid the seeds of doubt in me."

James groaned and tried to stand up. "We have to help them," he said, "you can't just sit there all day and watch it burn!"

"I cannot help them," Azrael replied, as some of the water types finally set about dousing the flames. "They despise me. And you are too weak to move."

"I am not," James stood up and clumsily put his hands on his hips. "See, I'm fine, let us go and offer our support. Maybe you will find they do not hate you after all."

Suddenly Blade lunged at something so fast he was just a red blur, when he returned he had trapped in his pincers a struggling Nyura girl.

"Mystik!" Azrael whispered.

"She was standing there, staring at us," Blade replied, "so still and quiet that I would not have seen her but for the firelight reflecting in her eyes." He looked at James expectantly. "What would you have me do with her?"

"She is a spy and a traitor," James growled, "she must not be allowed to speak of what she has seen."

"Shall I kill her then?" Blade did not look too happy with the prospect.

"It is perhaps the only thing for us to do," James replied.

Azrael stared into her flat, emotionless eyes. They still held no depth, no recognition. He swallowed hard. "I have to do it," he replied. He was, after all, responsible for the fact that she had lived to make it to the island and caused such devastation. It did not matter that the attack was focused in the village, and that the Pookamon were creating havoc all on their own.

What did matter was that Mystik had caused such damage to this, their sanctuary. He had no knife, but that did not matter, he had the power to destroy her fragile mind, or the power to strangle her. He reached out to do the latter. But as his large dark hands closed about her throat she looked up at him, and her large eyes showed something for just a brief second.

Fear perhaps.

He dropped his hands at his side and shook his head. "I cannot," he said.

"You want me to sir?" Blade asked.

"No, let her go, it matters little what she tells them. We are lost anyway."

A look of relief crossed the Scizor's features for a brief flicker of a moment. It was quickly banished behind a look of indifference. He dropped the Nyura, she stood there for a moment, staring blankly at him, then looked straight at Azrael, and smiled.

Then she was gone, running through the trees. He had never seen her with so much life.

"Probably running to report to her master," James grunted, but no effort to stop her or pursue her.

Azrael shook his head, "I don't think so," he said, "the girl is a mystery, but I don't think so." He stared at them, "I have to go and find Brooke," he said gruffly.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. James.

"I'm coming too, it will be good to see her and Cassandra again, even in such trying times." What he didn't add was, I want to make sure you don't hurt her, but he bit it back. Azrael could almost see the thought on his lips.

"Blade?" He asked, "what do you want to do?"

"I shall help these poor souls," the Scizor replied, "they need guidance."

And so the three of them set out across the field, towards the huddled groups.

The Pookamon in charge appeared to be a tall, gangly Noctowl. He was directing the water morphs to put out the fire and then helping the injured back inside. There were many injured. Azrael was both pleased and disturbed to notice that Brooke was not amongst them. Nor was Cassandra.

"Are you in charge here?" He asked the Noctowl.

"Indeed I am," he replied, the feathers on his neck rising slightly, as though defensive. "And whom might you be?"

"They call me Azrael," he replied.

"Your reputation precedes you," the Noctowl frowned. "And whom might you be here to kill?"

Azrael was surprised. Normally people did not react that way when they knew whom he was! "Noone," he answered, "why is it you do not seem shocked?"

The Noctowl shrugged. "Assassins are rarely as dangerous as people might think," he replied, "you kill for money, and I doubt there is any reason one would pay money for my demise."

"Few people realise that," Azrael answered, "but I am no longer working for Giovanni. He betrayed me, in the most destructive manner imagineable."

"Over a woman, I would guess," the Noctowl replied. He held out a clawed hand. "My name is Knoel," he said, "the students call me Doctor, but I hardly see it necessary for one of your standing to use such formalities."

Azrael nodded. Blade bowed deeply and James just sighed. He had already met with the Doctor.

"We wish to help," Blade declared, "my kinsfolk have not been kind upon your people, and I wish to make up for things."

"That's all well and good," Knoel said, "but I think getting inside would be the first priority. We were lucky, the explosion seems to have been short on fatalaties. However, some of my students have vanished. If you are willing to help, the Scizor could round up and stragglers and you two could help me with the injured."

Suddenly something flashed through the sky in the distance, a great shape illuminated by flames.

"We must make haste," Blade said calmly, "for even now the great Charizard comes."

The Noctowl whirled around, his wings flapping around his shoulders like a cape. He gestured with his hand-claws, giving orders. The students still gathered outside made their way back towards the building, or what was left of it. Many of them were shaking and shivering.

"I can't find my brother," a tearful Flareon-morph said to Azrael as he walked past. "Have you seen him?"

Azrael could only shake his head.

A Kangaskhan girl leaned against the doorway, a piece of wood buried into her upper chest, her breath coming in a rasping gasp.

As he entered the building, following the others, he saw the disarray the bomb had left. Broken floorboards, dripping with water and everywhere was littered little hearts, their edges scorched and charred.

The floor was torn open, with gaping holes and pieces of timber stabbing into the air like blades. Atop one of the jagged pieces of wood lay a shape and at first Azrael started, for it had a long blue tail. He darted over to it, praying that it was not his beloved.

It was not, it was a Horsea, the wood protruding through his chest where the blast had blown him.

Azrael had to turn away to stop from gagging. He had seen death many times, but he had never seen this sort of violence.

"We need blankets!" He shouted, "sheets, anything! Something to cover those who are injured and…" his voice faltered.

"Dead?" Someone asked.

"Yes."

And Azrael was quite startled to find that he was squeamish. It was one thing killing people, in a close, one on one situation, but quite another to witness random, and gory, acts of destruction.

At least he had cared, at least he had said "farewell" to each in turn.

James appeared beside him, his face pale. The other morphs were studiously either ignoring the carnage, or weeping over it. There were several in the corners, being quietly sick.

Azrael pushed his way amongst them, always looking for silver hair and fins.

But there was not a sign of her. James stopped to comfort a young Meowth girl, who literally threw herself into his arms.

Finally, the Umbreon made his way back to the door, and rested his head on his arms, staring at the shadow between them. "She's not here," he whispered. "She's not here."

"A-are you oh-kuk-kay sir?" Came a voice to his elbow and he lifted his head to see a Bulbasaur staring (And stuttering) at him.

"No." He replied.

"Uh-I'm not either. Muh-my friend duh-disappeared."

"Happened to a lot of us," he replied, "and I do not think the one I seek will be willing to see me."

"Whu-why not?"

Azrael stared at him then and he took a step back, seeing the anguish in the Umbreon's eyes.

"Suh-sorry to duh-disturb you." He muttered and stepped away.

"No, wait," Azrael snapped, and the boy stopped. "Can you just tell me, have you seen a pretty Vaporeon girl with silver-white hair?"

"Buh-Brooke," he stammered, his eyes wide. "Whuh-what do yuh-you want with buh-Brooke, mister?"

It was more a reflex then intent, but Azrael reached out with one hand and grabbed Jakob by the arm, dragging him closer. "Where is she?"

"Ah-I-I-I duh-don't know suh-sir." The lad was terrified now.

"Are you sure you don't know?"

"Puh-please you're huh-hurting me!"

Azrael realised what he was doing and immediately released his grip. He faltered and was about to run when he saw the look on Azrael's face.

The Umbreon dropped his eyes, and tried to fight back the tears of frustration and rage. Frustration that he still hurt people when he didn't mean to, rage that nothing seemed to be going right.

The Bulbasaur faltered. "Shuh-she really is guh-gone," he stuttered, "wuh-we was huh-hiding out suh-side and thuh-then suh-someone a-a-a-tuh-tacked us and Muh-Midori and I fuh-fought it off, and wheh-when we tuh-turned bah-back, she was guh-gone." He proudly pointed to a bandage about his arm. "It duh-did thuh-this to me."

"Where did she go?" Azrael was getting anxious now, his fingers digging into his fur.

"I duh-don't knuh-know." He faltered, "buh-buh-buh I thuh-think she fuh-followed Nuh-Nothing, he wuh-was trying to fuh-find a girl."

"A sandshrew?"

"Yuh-yes."

"What's Nothing?"

"Huh-he's my ruh-roommate."

"No! I mean what species is he!"

"Uh-uh-uh Nuh-Ninetails." He finally forced out.

"Thank you. May luck be on your side." Azrael suddenly ran from the building.

Well, she had gone off following a Ninetails, and fox Pokemon were very easy to trail, being rather strong in aroma. This should not be too hard. It was just a relief to get away from the poor kid, with his stutter it took his twice as long to say anything, which was a pity because Azrael was in a hurry and could not afford the time to ask questions. But there were so many questions in his head!

He realised too late he should have asked where Brooke had last been seen.

*

The trail was sharp on her nostrils, the deep earthy aroma of her friend, the strong, overwhelming odour of the Ninetails. She ran through the bushes, barrelling along in her sleek form, when suddenly another aroma danced on her sensitive nostrils. 

Feline.

Her ears flattened instinctively as something pounced on her, rolling her over with its large paws. She aimed for the Persian's face, spraying it with water, but it appeared to have little effect on the cat, which stood on its hind paws and flung its paw in the air, as though throwing something.

Coins, razor edged, spun through the air, cutting through the Vaporeon's dense fur. She squealed as the cat pounced again, pinning her to the ground. Its jaws about her throat.

"Can ya run?" It purred, "I think not, I think not."

Well fancy that, a talking kitty, she stated, matter-of-factly.

"No I ain't," it replied.

Okay, if you say so. 

"Yer're my lettle puppy now," it growled, "I bet da masta will be more den happy to see yer!"

And then a crackling of leaves and twigs was heard as a shape pushed its way through the trees.

"My, look what the cat dragged in," said Giovanni, a sly smile on his cruel face.

*

"I think it is time we went back and found the others," Cassandra said, although without conviction. With her short stubby fingers she traced the fur on Nothing's chest, revealed by his opened shirt. Their clothing was in a healthy state of disarray, Cassandra's had been singed by the Rapidash, snagged on bushes, and now hung from her stocky frame in tattered remnants. Nothing's was not helped by the fact that the Vulpix it had formally belonged to had been a good five inches shorter then him, and hung oddly on his muscular body. 

He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. "As you wish," he said, and frowned when she burst out laughing. "What?"

"Sorry," she said around spluttered laughter, "you just remind me of Wesley, that's all?"

"Wesley?" He quirked an eyebrow at her, then chuckled. "Ah, right, in the movie. You know, the school did blow up, we should see how Brooke and the others fare." But his voice too, lacked conviction. He scooped her up in his arms, and she wrapped hers about his neck, staring into his beautiful pale blue eyes. She had never felt so comfortable with anyone in her life, had never been around a man like him and not suffered the terrible curse of having her tongue tied. She felt warm inside, like someone had finally filled her with an inner heat. 

She smiled at him. "Why is it you call yourself Nothing?" She asked. "You are not Nothing, you are something to me, something special."

"I believed my life was cursed, but then something happened, a ray of light stronger then anything I had ever witnessed, entered my life. You," he added, in case she hadn't got the idea.

She felt herself go all weak and wobbly inside and knew now how Brooke had felt.

And why she hated love so much.

"So, can you be Saffire now?" She asked him, almost nervous. But she could not call him Nothing, the whole concept chilled her. Saffire was a beautiful name, and managed his pale eyes and his silver-white fur.

"For you, milady, I will be anything," he said.

So wrapped up in each other were they, that the first news they had of any intrusion was a thick rasping purr and a voice.

"Oh, how cute, I hate to disturb you love birds, but I think you have something I desire."

As one they whirled (quite easy as Saffire was still holding Cassandra) to see standing there a man about the thirties mark. His dark-blond hair was cut short into a tidy style and a cruel smile crossed his thin lips. Wrapped firmly in his arms, a knife pressed against her throat, was Brooke.

She was staring at them wide-eyed and naked, a look of terror in her eyes.

And around his ankles paced the largest and sleekest Persian they had ever seen. Cassandra gasped, clinging tighter to Saffire, pressing herself against him.

"What do you want?" The Ninetails growled, narrowing his eyes.

"Oh, nothing much, a simple trade, the blue finned girl for her." He nodded at Cassandra. "It seems one cannot trust hired help anymore. Tell them what became of those fools Persian?"

The Persian flicked a blood-red tongue over its lips. "Oh, dey suffered for dere stupidity," it snarled, making Cassandra gasp in surprise. "Dere ain't nothing like da taste of Sandslash on an empty stomach."

"Of course, Persian jests," Giovanni continued, "we had not the time to eat all of them, I cannot have my companions getting fat now, can I? Fat and lazy?"

The Persian strolled forward boldly and rubbed its long body against Saffire's legs. The Ninetails stepped back, but his burden of Cassandra hindered him and he could not avoid it rubbing its velvety fur against his. It rumble-purred loudly, and sat down a short distance away, licking its paw in a disinterested fashion. 

"Oh, I think de lettle one shall be most tasty," it continued, rubbing the dampened paw over its ear.

'Come one step closer," Saffire warned, "and I shall not be responsible for what happens!"

Giovanni smiled slyly again. "Oh, you think you have the right to threaten me. Really. The spirit of some Poke-freaks nowadays. I have a whole army at my command and what do you have? A little Sandshrew girl, some tattered clothing and," he shook his head sadly, "probably enough energy left to attack a Rattata."

"Put her down!" The Ninetails commanded.

Giovanni laughed, and pressed the knife close so as to make a cut in her ruff. "Oh, you are so convincing, see me quake in my boots! I only ask one thing, you give me your girl, and I shall give me mine. A fair trade do you not think? One for one?"

Brooke let out a startled gasp as the knife dug into her Vaporeon ruff, drawing a pinpoint of scarlet blood. 

"Quickly now, before I decide to kill her!"

Cassandra looked at Saffire, right into his blue eyes. "I have to go," she said.

"No, why?!" The fear was so evident in his voice it almost broke her heart.

"Because all of this is my fault."

Puzzlement crossed his face. "How do you figure that?"

"They want me, for some purpose. Brooke followed me, probably to see if she can help. If I wasn't captured she would still be free and this wouldn't be happening. I have to go."

She squirmed out of Saffire's arms and stared at Giovanni, holding her arms out.

"Okay, let Brooke go."

"Pesian?" Giovanni commanded.

Before Saffire, in his weakened state could object, Persian lunged, knocking Cassandra into the dirt. The Ninetails stepped forward, ready to pull the cat from her, but the sleek feline shook its head.

"Nuh uh uh, fur-boy," it growled. "Dis here is mine now and yer can keep ya hands off. One step closer and I'll tear out her throat. Yer betta believe it!"

Saffire was torn. Renardo's friends had weakened him so much that he could barely stand, and certainly not fight, but he had to save Cassandra. Even if she did not want saving.

"You said you'd do an exchange," he said softly. 

"Oh, I did, didn't I?" Giovanni looked almost surprised for a moment, then he dropped Brooke and pushed her towards the fox.

She staggered, her legs folded and she fell into the dirt at an awkward angle.

"What have you done to her?" Saffire exclaimed, running towards her in a limping gait.

"I never said what state," Giovanni replied, and brought his hands together, forming a cup. A dark purple-red light began forming between them, and then exploded forth, striking her in the back.

She spasmed several times then lay still. Saffire reached her at just that moment and crouched down beside her.

"What did you do to her? how did you do that?" He tried to turn her over, cradle her. She made no movement.

"You don't really think that with all my gene manipulation, I could resist enhancing my own a little, do you?" Giovanni gloated. "And now I have the girl, I will know the secrets, I shall be invincible!" He threw back his head and laughed.

Persian growled, batting at Cassandra's head playfully. Every bash sent stars flickering in her vision and she knew that she could not stay conscious much longer.

"Is, is she dead?" She asked Saffire.

Saffire fumbled for a pulse, feeling a flickering like a tiny, dying bird. "Not yet," he replied. "Not yet."

"Good," Cassandra replied.

"You won't get away with this," Saffire growled, trying to get the energy for a final attack.

"Al contrair," Giovanni grinned, "I think I already have." And he cupped his hands again, aiming one of the attacks at Saffire. Cradling Brooke's head, the Ninetails could hardly dodge, and he felt it seer through him, draining him of life and energy. He sagged over the Vaporeon girl.

"Persian, let us leave these fools in peace," Giovanni muttered, gesturing to the cat. "And render her incapacitated."

And the Persian swung its paw about in a devastating blow, and darkness ruled again.

*

Cassandra awoke in the bowels of darkness. She was not alone, the air was heavy with the smell of heat and dust. Her body ached.

"Hi?" She asked the darkness, "is anyone there?"

"I am," a quiet voice replied, and she recognised the earthy scent of another Sandshrew morph. "Who are you?"

"My name is Cassandra," she replied, "where are we?"

"Can you hear the creaking of boards, the gentle slap of water against wood? We are in a boat, my friend.

And we are captives."

"But why?" Was Cassandra's first question. "Why are we here? Imprisoned?"

"I can answer dat," came a familiar, accented voice. The talking Persian. "Da master, he wants somethin' from yer, don't he? Somethin' from one of ya."

"What?" Cassandra's fear had diminished into a sort of deep seeded depression. Why not ask? It wasn't as if she had anything to lose.

"Oh, what would be da fun in tellin' ya dat?" The feline yowled, and they heard its padded feet departing. It must have been making noise on purpose, for normally Persians moved as silent as a shadow.

"That beast creeps me out," the other Sandshrew said, a shudder in her voice. "I keep thinking its going to eat me."

"It won't eat me," Cassandra replied, jutting out her chin, "my Saffire will save me!"

*

Saffire cradled the unconscious figure of Brooke. There was a stabbing pain throughout his entire body every time he tried to move his head. His whole body was racked with shudders. He wanted to go after Giovanni, to rescue Cassandra, but he could not leave Brooke here to die. And he was certain she would. Suddenly a noise, the faintest whisper of a noise, made him turn his head.

A stabbing pain shot down his neck from the movement.

A dark furred pookamon stared at him, from twilight eyes. His features were calm, but angry.

"What have you done to her?" He asked coldly, stepping forward. Saffire could see in the flex of his muscles, the flame burning behind his eyes, that this man was dangerous. Very dangerous. 

The two of them stared at each other for a long moment, until Saffire finally found his tongue.

"I did nothing. It was that human freak and his talking Persian."

"Giovanni," a voice growled, and another figure staggered into the area, a human with blue hair, tousled and fill of twigs. 

The Umbreon scooped Brooke in his arms. Her head lolled alarmingly. "I should have known he was behind this," he snarled. "I will kill him myself." Then he glanced down at Brooke and a look of such great sorrow crossed his face that Saffire felt as if his heart were being torn in two.

"I must go and find Cassandra," he replied. "I'm sorry about Brooke." He gulped.

The dark morph stared down at Brooke's face, and ran one hand tenderly through her hair. "I must stay with her," he said quietly. "I can hardly leave her in a time such as this." His gaze hardened and his violet eyes seemed to bore into the Ninetails' blue ones. "Kill him for me," he said softly. "Kill him for me."

Saffire nodded. He would do as the man wished, even though he did not know him. He wished only to slay the monster himself.

Giovanni would die tonight.

"I'm coming with you," the human added, staggering slightly. "I have my own vengence to seek."

Although the human was a liability, Saffire had no desire to hang about and argue. He nodded. "Very well. Then let us depart."

The human turned to the Umbreon-morph and bowed quickly to him. "Fare thee well," he said softly, "take the woman to where none can hurt her." And he brushed a single tear from his own eye. And then he turned his gaze back to Saffire. "Well, don't just stand there like a stranded magikarp! Let's go!"

Without further encouragement, Saffire transformed into a Ninetails so as to accurately follow the trail. It would be slower with the human tagging along, but he felt better for the company.

*

As the night grew blacker and more oppressive, the morph and the human made their way through the forest. Suddenly it opened up onto a beach, and Saffire stepped back in alarm.

There had been a battle fought here not minutes before. The beach was littered with the bodies of dead Pookamon, scattered aimlessly about the sand, hideously maimed. In death, there was no way to distinguish the natives of the island from Giovanni's army. Somehow it seemed fitting.

"It wasn't meant to be like this…" a voice groaned, and Saffire's ears twitched as he recognised the scent. It was Pierce, the Rapidash he had gored. He had obviously not gored it enough, for he had managed to struggle to the beach, and was now sitting on the shore, clasping his head in his hands and weeping. A pink bandana was tied tightly about his neck. It was stained brown with blood, but the Ninetails could not have bitten deep enough. Oddly enough, he felt relieved. Reforming into his morphic form, he walked over to the sobbing unicorn Pokemorph. He patted him on the shoulder, feeling an odd comradeship.

"It wasn't meant to be like this," the morph wept, "it was meant to be a simple job, come in, kidnap the Sandshrews and get out of there! What has he done? He's killed us all!"

There came a scream, a bloodthirsty shriek and something swooped down on them. The human, whose name, Saffire had established, was James, shrieked and ran for the trees. The something turned out to be the largest and most deformed Charizard the Ninetails had ever seen. He jumped up, trying to drag the Rapidash with him. But Pierce would not move, merely stood and stared at the monstrosity.

"Is this what we have become?" He said quietly, as the Charizard bellowed again and crashed into him, his horn penetrating into its skull at the same moment its talons tore the life from his body. Blood trickled down its forehead and it swung its tail wildly, sending an avalanche of driftwood and corpses flying into the air. Saffire dodged a log and dived into the trees after James.

The Charizard seemed to stop almost in midair, before its momentum carried it into the foliage. It threw back its head, bellowed again, and then sprayed a fountain of fire into the forest. Instantly flames licked up the tree branches, pine needles sizzling and popping. Saffire struggled through the thickening smoke to suddenly stumble into someone. His eyes were watering madly, but he could see it was human, James.

The man grasped his hand tight, and pressing his other hand over his mouth, dragged the Ninetails morph away from the Charizard, which was now stomping on trees and kicking them down.

Finally they were away from the smoke, and the both of them fell to the ground panting and wheezing for breath.

"What was that thing?" Saffire gasped.

"A freak," James replied, rubbing his eyes, "a horrible killing machine. It has to be his work, noone else could do anything so cruel."

"We've lost the trail," the helpful Ninetails pointed out.

"We may have lost the trail, but look!" James pointed shakily at something. There, on the water, in a quiet cove, was a large sailing vessel. "I bet that's where they've got Cassandra!"

Saffire had not even waited for him to finish the sentence, he was already racing across the beach. James stared at him for a moment.

"Oh shit…" he muttered, then sprinted after him, sending the Ninetails tumbling to the ground just as a purple shape flitted over, and alighted on the edge of the ship. It turned and stared at them, clicking large pincers, and then dived at them. Saffire stood up as the Gligar-morph descended on him, sending a powerful volley of ice from the palms of his hands. The whirling ice struck the flying Pokemon head on, sending it tumbling into the sand, where Saffire immediately pounced on it.

"What's on the ship?" He growled.

"None of your business," the scorpion-bat replied.

"Oh really? None of my business indeed?" Saffire pushed the morph's head back, jamming his elbow painfully in the place on its throat that was not protected in scale. He pushed.

The Gligar gagged and gasped. "Whu-whuh-whuh-what?" 

"What is on the ship?" Saffire repeated. James kicked the morph in the side for good measure.

"Prisoners…" it gasped. "Giovanni and his … prisoners…"

"Very good, it appears you have the right answer." Saffire slapped it across the side of the face. "Now for round two, what's the safest way onto the ship? What guards it?"

"Giovanni's Persian…" The morph replied.

"A cat, just a stinking cat?" James chuckled. "I've fought them before and I shall fight them again!"

"Not normal Persian…"

"Explain!" Saffire applied a little pressure to the Gligar's throat.

"Enhanced… very strong.."

"Can we get on without alerting the feline?" James asked.

"Only if quiet," it replied. "Please… let me go!"

"You forgot one question though," Saffire commented "what's the safest way on?"

"From the water…"

Saffire glanced at James. "Well," he replied, "I may be a fire type, but I can swim, how about you?"

The man nodded. "Well enough. But what do we do with Scorpion-bat here?"

Saffire stared at the Gligar wickedly, then shook his head. "We tie it up," he said.

"Um, with what?"

The Ninetails stood up (still with one foot pressed against the chest of the morphic-bat), he scouted the area as best he could. "With that net there."

The fishing net had clearly washed up on shore a long time ago, for it was partly buried in sand. However, the material it was made from was quite strong, and had weathered the conditions well enough. James hastened to unbury it and they wrapped the complaining Gligar-morph in its folds. Something flashed in the distance and they realised that the Charizard must be going about its terrible task.

"We must hurry," Saffire urged, and ran into the water, wincing as it touched his skin. James glanced back to make sure the netting was secure, and followed after the morph.

Behind them, the Gligar set about demolishing the net with its pincers.

*

Sobbing, Azrael carried Brooke back towards the devastated building.

*

Over the creak of timbers and the sloshing of water against its sides, the sound of splashing could be heard. Saffire fastened his claws into the side of the boat, which was a wooden vessel, and dragged himself aboard. His nine tails were waterlogged. Swimming was a huge chore for any Ninetails – even if they had immunity to water the way he did. Not to mention that it hurt badly for him to swim. His skin tingled with the water. Behind him James dragged himself aboard, using the fox's tails for leverage. Saffire was none too happy about that!

Finally, panting, the two of them lay on the deck.

"Oh, look what we have here?" Came a familiar yowling voice. A large Persian with glossy fur stalked over. "Look what da sea threw up!" It stood there casually enough, but the rippling of its muscles and the tenseness in its hindlegs gave part of the show away. It was ready to attack at any moment.

James frowned. "Saffire, I'll hold it off, find Cassandra!" Saffire glanced at him anxiously, then nodded and darted off. The human turned back to the cat. "Why, hello kitty," he said softly.

The Persian, hearing this did a double take. "Ah, yes, well, lookie what da sea did throw up, if it ain't lettle Jamsie-girl. Come to apologise for what ya did to me, eh? Cos if ya are, den ya really will be sorry!"

"Meowth?" James was gaping.

"Dunno what ya talkin' about," the Persian snarled, "I ain't no prissy little pussy no more, now I'm da most powerful predator ya'll ever meet. So it seems as if ya don't have to be apologising ta me after all."

"We were friends," James said softly, backing up against the railing.

"Oh we was, was we? Well, _friend,_ it seems as if I don't be needin' ya no more, so ya'll get the old heave-ho. Betcha wondering what happened to your girly-friend, eh? Do ya know what happened to Jessie, James? Do ya wanna know?" From the taunting in its voice, it was obvious that whatever had befallen his companion had been none to pleasant.

He simply stared and shuddered. This Persian had once been Meowth – his friend, his companion, someone he and Jessie had loved and trusted. He had been told Meowth had died during the Change, but now he saw that was not true.

Meowth had been Changed, but not into a morph. He had been evolved.

And with Evolution, the mind changes too.

He felt a lump rising in his throat. How could Meowth do this to him? The cat had been their best friend, reliable, affectionate and had helped the two of them in their time of need, and now it was mocking him.

"She didn't die, Jamsie-girl," the Persian yowled, "but she wished she had. See, ya know how ya let out all da prisoners? Well, Jessie got hurt like real nasty by a big bad bull Tauros. Luckily da master sought to save her by making her one of us. So ya see, Jamsie, in a way, ya killed her! How's dat for poetic justice, eh?"

"No," James whimpered. Not Jessie… not his best friend and confident, almost like a sister to him, not quite like a lover, except in his deepest, forbidden dreams.

He had loved her, he had loved Meowth. 

And Meowth was now a monster.

"And before dat, why da master got to do ter her what ya always wanted to, Jamsie-girl! He got to mate with her, he did. And she liked it." The Persian licked its chops. "But she weren't so happy when da master took her baby away." Its tail swished against its hindquarters.

"You lie!" James hissed, although without conviction, "Jessie would never let that freak take her as a lover."

"What da ya know, Jamsie? You ain't nothing but a faggot. Dontcha think I know? All dose years of parading around in women's clothing and putting on da voice? Ya nothing, Jamsie-girl, nothing but a stinkin' queer."

"You are not Meowth!" James threw himself at the Persian, and the two met in a series of yowls and shrieks. 

The Persian's claws were amazingly sharp, tearing through James's weak human skin like a knife through butter. He bled from a dozen scratches and bites. Somehow, against all odds, he managed to push the cat off of himself. The Persian had suffered bruises, but nothing compared to the state of James. Then the young man backed up against the railing.

"Come and get me," he coaxed.

The Persian glanced to where Saffire had been, obviously a little concerned about the Ninetails wandering about freely, but then its rage took over, and it lunged.

James stepped aside at the last minute, and the large feline hit the side of the boat almost tipping over the side. It regained balance quickly however, leaving long scars in the timber, and whirled. Its eyes glowed violet and then a huge wave of bright purple light poured from its jewel.

James was so surprised that he barely had time to dodge, and the beam hit him in the side with enough force to shoot him into the air and into the side of the railing.

Bringing back some less-then-concerting flashbacks.

"Team Rocket's blasting off again," he muttered, almost in delirium. It felt as it every molecule in his body had expanded, and then shrunk back to normal size. It felt as if he was falling apart from the inside. 

And then the Persian pounced on him again.

Unfortunately for both parties involved, the force of the beam had weakened the railing to the point where it could no longer withstand the added pressure of several pounds of feline being applied at high speed.

Persian scrabbled and tried to back pedal as both he and James fell through the side of the ship and into the water.

James barely even noticed - the pain was intense, so intense that the chill of the water and the force of it coming up to meet him could not even compete. 

And flailing, the two of them plunged straight under the water.

*

Saffire heard the splash and smiled, for obviously James had managed to get the feline overboard. He found without too much difficulty the entrance to the hold. It was locked, but a well placed blast of ice quickly put an end to that. In the darkness below he could hear voices, and then, suddenly, the wall before him caved in, or rather out, and three rolled up figures barrelled through it. 

The whole ship shook.

Before him uncurled three female Sandshrews. Two looked at him in puzzlement, but the third sprang at him so impulsively he barely had time to catch her. Cassandra kissed him on the nose.

"Did you really need rescuing?" He asked her. 

She grinned. "At first we were really scared, but then we realised something, we are, after all, Sandshrews and we do have some power. Especially if we band together."

"What about the water?" 

The other two Sandshrews looked at each other nervously. "No like water," one ventured.

"If you could face it to get to us," Cassandra replied brightly, "then I can face it to get to you."

And then, suddenly, it started to rain, a rumble of thunder rolling across the heavens. There was a flash of vivid white lightning, neatly (and dramatically) illuminating a figure standing in the doorway. Saffire was sure it had not been there a moment ago.

"Were my little birdies planning on flying the coop?" Asked a mocking voice. "We can't have that happening, can we just?"

The two Sandshrew girls screamed and hugged each other. But Saffire was not so easily scared, even though he had already faced the wrath of Giovanni.

"What do you want with them?" He asked, placing Cassandra on the ground and stepping forward.

"Just a bit of her DNA," Giovanni replied, grinning, "the rest of her is entirely expendable – what a shame I shall have to kill her to get the piece I require, eh?"

Saffire's eyes glowed vibrant blue, but his body showed no other reaction.

Cassandra stood boldly beside him. "You will not take me alive," she growled.

"Oh that is a pity," Giovanni said sadly, "see, to completely preserve the bit I really need, I have to remove it in the laboratory, otherwise it'll die and all will be lost. But I think, really, you are all bluster and no action!"

Cassandra stared at him. "I mean it," she said, sticking out her chin, "if you come any closer, I shall barrel straight through this floor and drown myself, you know water is not kind to me, and you know out kin cannot swim. Dare you risk it?"

Even Saffire was puzzled, what could she possibly be trying to achieve? He knew that whilst Sandshrew were not weak against the water the same way a fire Pokemon was, they could certainly not swim. And if she was under the boat, she certainly would drown, not to mention that the boat would sink.

Giovanni seemed to realise this, for he did not make any advance. He brought his hands together, and a purple light began to form there. Saffire pushed Cassandra behind him, not wanting her to experience the agony he had experienced earlier. The tearing pain in his head.

"Luckily I don't have to advance…" Giovanni said. And then, for no discernable reason, his speech was broken off by a screech and a scream – his scream. Someone else's screech. The glowing purple light suddenly plunged downwards, into the floor near where Giovanni had been standing - for he had disappeared from the entranceway, and if one listened carefully, the sound of thrashing wings could be heard. They were quickly drowned out by the pounding rain.

"What the hell just happened?" One of the Sandshrew's shrieked, almost despairingly. 

Saffire paid no heed, motioning for Cassandra to stay below, he stepped over the large hole, through which water was already beginning to bubble into the lowest compartments of the ship, and peered out into the storm. Lightning flashed at just the right moment for him to see two things.

A large smear of blood on the deck where Giovanni had been standing.

And a shape, high in the sky, a strangely deformed shape, and dangling from its claws the limp silhouette of a man.

Part of the deck was on fire.

Saffire took all this in in a few quick glances. "Cassandra, girls! We have to go overboard now! Or we're going to go down with the ship! Or up with the ship…" he muttered the last part to himself. Already water was starting to flow into the floor, slowly, but with intent.

He reached down one hand, "take my hand!"

Cassandra pushed one of the other girls ahead of her, and the girl winched as the water touched her naked feet. One hand reached out and he clasped it firmly, half lifting, half dragging her across the deck. She shrieked in fear when she saw the fire. Saffire had no time for her, he pushed her aside and reached out for the next Sandshrew.

The fire was not spreading very far, the rain was preventing it taking firm hold, although oddly enough, despite the pounding rain it still burned. Call it creative licence.

Just as the second Sandshrew stood on the deck, the boat lurched, and tipped, sending Cassandra tumbling forwards, almost into the hole. The two Sandshrew girls on board shrieked as they almost rolled into the fire. Saffire, braced against the doorway, managed to keep his balance. 

The railing went underwater, immediately putting an end to the flames. Cassandra had slipped into the hole, and was clinging frantically to the side.

"Help…" She whimpered. "Can't swim!"

Saffire reached down, trying to take her hand, but it was, naturally, just a few inches too short. The boat lurched again and he almost lost his grip and fell into the hole himself.

Suddenly the air was filled with chittering. Creatures, strange small and twisted creatures grasped the Sandshrew girls in many hands and lifted them into the air. Now the air was filled with screams.

Saffire was torn, he could not concern himself with rescuing them, he had to save Cassandra! He twisted, lowering his tails into the hole. "Grasp one!" He shouted against the pounding rain, the chittering winged beasts and the screaming girls.

He felt something grab onto his tail, something heavy and painful. Bracing himself he held his bulk in place whilst Cassandra dragged herself up his tail, then fell backwards, catching her in his arms as the boat lurched again. This time they both tumbled into the water, him cradling Cassandra to his chest. The water hit him like a very cold, very wet wall. Instantly he plunged deep, almost to the bottom, then buoyancy sent him back to the surface. Things were grasping at his hair, his shoulders, trying to haul him into the air, and he no longer had the strength to resist them.

Cradling Cassandra close, almost as though she were a frightened infant, the small but strong winged beasts dragged him across the water and to shore. One of them landed beside him, staring at him, and he recoiled a bit in surprise.

It looked like a Zubat, only its body was rounder, more furry, and it had a short pug-nose. 

"Kweek?" It asked, and much to his surprise, the Ninetails morph allowed himself to fall back, feeling strangely relieved.

It was over, although what had begun, he could barely even conceive. 

*

A lone figure hobbled along the beach, leaning heavily on a stick for support. Her long red hair, drenched through, hung in lose clumps about her face. Along side her bounded an Eevee, dancing through the rain, almost as if it enjoyed it, and a short distance away, running in quick dashes, was a muscular Meowth, darting from shelter to shelter.

She stopped, and crouched low, discovering something lying in the sand, a dishevelled bundle, something the sea had spat up. She balanced herself carefully, using a wingtip for support, and ran one hand down the side of the flotsam. It was a man. A gasp of concern, of recognition, issued forth and she dropped to her knees beside him, her wasted, shrivelled legs. She ran one hand down his face, then turned around, staring down the rain drenched beach.

The Meowth yowled, as it too, took shelter beside something it shouldn't. The dead Persian lay stretched out on its side, mouth open and paws spread wide, displaying its powerful claws. There was a look of horror on its face, of fear.

Then, the figure realised that the Eevee was no longer beside her.

*

Saffire and Cassandra crouched together in the bushes, whilst overhead came the never ending rumble of thunder and flash of lightning. It was not a natural storm, and Saffire could not imagine what had started it. Cassandra sobbed into his mane, all her fears and anxiety finally breaking the surface. Near them, the two Sandshrew girls that had been aboard the boat shrieked every time the thunder rumbled.

The mutant Pokemon – the strange furry Zubats, had disappeared after rescuing them. Saffire did not know why they had done it. Or why the Charizard had attacked its own master. But for now he did not want answers, he just wanted Cassandra. It amazed him how quickly the feelings had grown. From the moment he had seen her in the conservatory, he had felt something for her, a kinship perhaps. She and he were the same, lost souls, seeking comfort and sanctuary. He stroked her hair, and gently nuzzled her with his lips. She sighed, hugging him so tightly it seemed he could barely breathe, yet it was not a thing he would have changed for all the world.

"I love you Cassandra," he whispered, and he knew that he meant it. She may not be the most beautiful on the outside, but she was beautiful to him, with her waist length hair, her shy, fleeting smile, her innocence and hidden strength.

He felt her squeeze him even tighter as the words passed his lips, felt her sobbing seemingly double in volume. "And I love you," she choked through the tears. "Oh, Saffire, the thought of losing you is just…." She could not complete her sentence.

Unfortunately, all the sweetness and so forth was broken by the Sandshrew girls, who suddenly screamed again, a different scream now – not the simple "its thunder" scream. Hearing them made Saffire all the prouder of his beloved. Something had pushed its way through the undergrowth and was staring at them.

Both Cassandra and he found the strength to laugh – it was an Eevee, a little, waterlogged Eevee!

"Buttons!" Cassandra shrieked, almost deafening the Ninetails.

The Eevee turned and looked at her, letting out an "eepree!" of delight, it leapt into her arms, licking her face.

"I take it you two know each other?" Saffire said with a wry smile.

Cassandra nodded eagerly, "its Buttons!" She said, "James's Eevee, maybe that means James is around here too!"

Which fell like a leaden pipe on Saffire's heart. He had not told her about James, who was surely dead, and she had no reason to imagine that he was even on the Isle. Saffire knew that James must be dead, for he was a human, and this storm was something almost supernatural. No human could survive out there, not in that deluge. She did not know about Brooke either.

How could he possibly break such news to her? It would tear her apart!

"Stay here and keep an eye on the terrified twosome," he said gently, "Buttons and I will go and find James," and whomever brought her here too, he added to himself. "I'll be back in a moment, love you!" He kissed her on the nose and gestured to Buttons. The Eevee darted over to him.

Cassandra nodded, understanding him, but not wanting to let him go anyway. "Take care," she whispered.

He grinned, "as you wish."

And then the Ninetails and the Eevee entered the rain.

*

Buttons danced ahead of him, leading him towards a shape on the beach, a crouching, disfigured shape, with large, bat-like wings wrapped around it like a cloak. At first he thought it was one of the enemy, but the Eevee bounded straight up to it, "eepree"ing happily.

And then he saw what it was crouching over.

James.

He raced over to the figure, and to the side of the human he had known but a short time, but had come to admire for his courage.

"Is he dead?" He asked.

The winged figure looked up at him, and he found himself gazing into huge blue eyes, like deep pools, set in a narrow blue muzzle. She was beautiful, in a way, although so strange he could not imagine whom she might be. She held one hand up to him, and opened it, a tiny flame flickered on her hand. A tiny, golden flame.

"This is the flame of life," she said, "it flutters within him still, like a tiny bird, anxious to be free. This flame is my flame, and I seek to implant some of it in his heart. You see, I knew him once, Saffire, he was a good friend of mine. I do not think my flame will hurt him."

Saffire was startled, he had been going by the name Nothing for so long that surely noone, lest of all this complete stranger, could know his real name. He swallowed and watched as she placed her hand palm downwards on James's chest. It flared for a moment with golden light, and then James spasmed, and she quickly turned him over as he coughed up mouthful after mouthful of foul salt water.

Now, he thought, the time was right to speak, and his astonishment could no longer contain it. "Who are you?" He gasped.

She smiled at him, and it was such a sweet smile he thought he would melt at the touch of it. He blinked and glanced away, ashamed of his feelings. Had he not proposed his love to Cassandra only moments before?

"I am Lilith," she spoke. "Mother of monsters!" And she drew herself upwards, leaning heavily on the stick. Several beasts fluttered in the air towards her, and Saffire recognised the furry Zubats.

"And those are the monsters you mother?" He asked.

"Pick him up," she instructed, ignoring his question, "James needs sleep, warmth and dryness, and I am feared I cannot carry him myself."

Saffire nodded, unwilling to argue with this most enigmatic woman. He scooped James up, marvelling at how light humans were, when one really considered it. One of the Zukeys chittered at him and did a loop in the air.

"There is a hut," she said, "not far to the north of here, I shall send Buttons to fetch your beloved and her friends, and led them there. It belongs to a recluse, but I he will not argue with us for long."

How did she know? And where had she come from? Despite her deformity, she was making quite powerful process across the beach and towards the trees, so much progress that Saffire, with his heavy burden, had to struggle to keep pace. Buttons darted away, presumably to undertake its task.

The hut was small, but dry, and true to Lilith's predictions, the inhabitant of the hut put up little argument, being entirely absent from it all. She laid James on a wooden pallet in front of the fireplace and then set about scavenging for a box of matches.

"Honestly," she muttered, "trust me to fall into the company of the defective Ninetails."

Saffire narrowed his eyes, "I am not defective!" He growled.

"Oh," she replied, "you would be most useful if I needed to keep something chilly-cold, but alas, what I require right now is a nice roaring fire. Now, where could he have kept his matches? Ah, right!" She was not even looking at this moment, but suddenly turned to a desk against one wall and opened the third drawer, moving aside a small box of chocolates and a notebook, to produce a cigarette lighter. She flicked it hopelessly, then handed it over to Saffire. "Never could get the hang of those things," she said with a shrug.

Within minutes the fire was lit, and a pot of water (provided by the sky) was boiling atop it. James was buried beneath a pile of blankets, scavenged from every room in the tiny house. His breathing indicated he was sleeping.

"Now, I assume you are requiring some answers," she said, easing herself into a sitting position against the wall.

"That is if you are willing to provide them," Saffire answered, a little snidely.

"Well, I was not always known as Lilith," she said, "but I took on that name when Giovanni, cursed be his name, forced me to become his wife, and I bore him a child…" She glared at Saffire's stunned expression. "I was human then, of course."

Saffire was sitting against the wall, Cassandra wrapped in his arms and Buttons curled up beside them. The Sandshrew girls had excused themselves and disappeared into the bedroom to sleep. A Meowth, which appeared also to be one of Lilith's companions stared out the window at the rain, feigning disinterest. Several of the Zukeys hung from the ceiling, looking like furry little cocoons.

"He took the child from me, and committed terrible acts upon her. Soon she was not human at all, but a monster, a morph like you. But she was only a baby when she was Changed, so she grew up different – confused, lost in her mind. I despised him for doing that to me, hated him for killing the child I had carried all those months, and my last touch with reality.

"Giovanni is insane, he always has been power hungry. He created the morphs as a means to take over the world, but then they escaped, thanks to some help from James here," she touched James on the forehead with her fingers, making him murmur in his sleep. "And when they escaped, I saw my chance to escape, but alas, such thoughts were prevented when a terrified Tauros, perhaps thinking I was one of the enemy, ran me through.

"Giovanni found me dying and was terribly upset, so he took me to his machine and made me what I am today, only, perhaps in his desperation, or his haste, he made me more powerful then he could have dreamed. I escaped a short time later, taking with me the results of other experiments – the Zukey that you see here with me today. They are a Zubat and Mankey hybrid, bred as stroppy little fighters, mainly to attack messenger Pidgey.

"But alas, The Change had cursed me with certain powers, premonition being amongst them, and I sensed what was going to happen here, and sought to prevent it, only my messenger was too late and his redemption has yet to find him. When I realised that Giovanni had foreseen my preventative action and moved in faster, I had to make my own way there, and alas, was a little too slow."

"You made the storm," Cassandra stated, "you're part Dragonaire and Dragonaire can control the weather, right?"

"Right, I see the Sandshrew has been reading. I have saved the village, but I cannot save many of the morphs. Already the death rate is high, both enemy and target have perished. But now it is over."

"You saved James," Saffire stated, "how can you not save others?"

"James and I go back a long way, from before the Change, the fire in my heart can feed the fire in his, that is not true of others. Also, James was not dead when I found him, merely close to the border."

"Um, being close to Giovanni," Cassandra ventured nervously, "do you know why he wanted us?"

Lilith smiled. "Oh yes," she said, grinning slightly, "Giovanni had his favourite pet scientist, and she had her treasured Sandshrew. She had advancements far beyond what the other scientists had developed, but refused to share them with him. She killed herself, but before she died, she morphed her pet, using her own DNA and the DNA she had created that would allow the powers of a Pookamon to change with time, to," she shrugged, "evolve."

"But Pookamon cannot evolve," Saffire pointed out, "I learned that a long time ago."

"One can," she answered, "this one. And it is a Sandshrew-morph. And only a scientist would teach her Sandshrew to read." She looked at Cassandra.

"You think it's me?" Cassandra was incredulous.

"Would you rather it was one of them?" She replied, nodding to the backroom.

Saffire shuddered at the very thought. "I doubt between them they have the brains of Cassandra here," he said, grinning.

"I had drawn the same conclusion myself," Lilith replied. "Which means you were the one he sought, my dear."

"I can evolve?" She stared at Saffire. "Would you like me to?"

Saffire squeezed her. "Cassandra, my dear, I love you just the way you are and would not ask you to change at all on my behalf! However," he added, "it is your decision."

"I'm a Sandshrew," she replied. "Forever and always. Or at least for now. If you can love me for that, then I will learn to love me for that!"


	2. The Mind is a Terrible Thing to Taste

Azrael sat by the bedside and stared into the blank, pale face of his beloved. She was alive, for her chest rose and fell easily and rhythmically, but she was unresponsive, and had been ever since Giovanni had attacked her. At least, Azrael thought, she was permitting him to touch her, to hold her hand, but there was cold satisfaction there.

He had been here for almost a week now, watching her. After the storm had passed and the medical help summoned from the mainland, she had been fixed up with a supply of nutrients to stop her starving, but already she looked thinner then he remembered. He kissed her on the muzzle, sorrowful that she showed no reaction. Even revulsion would have been welcomed at this time.

But nothing.

She lay as if dead.

There was a motion at the door and James staggered in, clad in a dressing gown and bringing a tray laden with food. He placed it on the bedside table and stared at Azrael. Azrael knew he appeared to have aged several years in the last few days – a year for every day that Brooke had been comatose. His face was gaunt too, he had barely eaten at all.

"I persuaded the nurse to let me take over," James offered by way of clearing the silence. "I wanted to thank you."

"For what?"

"Well not to say thank you, but more to say I was sorry. I'm sorry I doubted your intent."

Azrael snorted, and made no reply.

"They found his body," James continued, "Cassandra told me yesterday. Giovanni's I mean. It washed up on shore. He is very, very dead."

The Assassin stared at the still form of Brooke. The death of Giovanni gave him no satisfaction – he would have liked to choke the man's life from him with his own hands.

"And, well, Lilith, the one who brought those horrible blighters here is apparently keen to talk to me, although she won't visit me until I'm well…" He looked puzzled for a moment, "although I feel well enough now. And, Cat misses you, she's been pacing the hallways of the dormitory all day apparently. And they've fixed the university."

Azrael merely stared at him, as though he himself were comatose.

"Okay, fine," James muttered, "don't accept my apology then. I guess I'll be going then." He turned to leave.

"I'm sorry too," Azrael whispered. "Sorry it had to be this way. Thank you."

James smiled at him, and departed the room.

She was trapped in her own mind, he knew it, somehow the attack had sealed her in, but how was he to get her out? He had tried talking to her, pleading with her, even telling her he loved her (which seemed a foolproof way in the movies), but wherever she was, she was certainly not listening. He would fade out with her, the two of them dead together.

Maybe then he would find peace.

The door sung open again and he looked up to see who had disturbed his thoughts. That twisted, yet beautiful Dragonaire-Zubat girl, and someone else…

"Get her out of here!" He growled.

For once in her life, Mystik reacted, jumping and cowering behind Lilith. Lilith glared at him.

"What is she doing here? She is a traitor!" Or was he the Traitor, he who could not bring himself to kill her.

"She is my offspring," Lilith snapped, "and we have come here to help you, haven't we Mystik?"

Mystik stared up at her mother, and blinked, just once. She nodded her head ever so slightly.

"Have you come to slay me?" Azrael asked, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Do not be ridiculous. I know you cared for Mystik, saving her even though she had been programmed to destroy, something which I assure you has now been removed. And I know your pain. I think we can help you, and her."

"How? How can anyone help her?"

"She is lost in her mind – it is a confusing place, you must go out there and lead her back here."

"Oh, be serious."

Lilith looked hurt. "I assure you, I am never anything but, you must go in there and help her, but I warn you, a person's mind is a confusing place, and one can easily get lost, which is why you need Mystik here."

"How can an autistic child possibly help me?"

The Dragonair morph hugged her daughter. "You might be surprised," she replied, "at how much an autistic child can do. Mystik has wandered for years in her own mind, she can easily navigate that of another."

Azrael stared at his sleeping beauty. "I shall do whatever you require," he whispered. "Help me."

Lilith reached out and placed her hands around his. She brought their closed hands together and placed them on Brooke's heaving chest. Mystik stood beside them, bringing her hands apart in a glowing purple arc that soon enshrouded them. Then she clapped, and the purple ball grew smaller and smaller, and Azrael felt himself falling into infinity…

He was standing in a field, with no recollection of landing in it, merely standing there. A small flickering purple shape darted around him, flittering on tiny wings. He put out a hand palm upwards, and it landed in it, standing still long enough for him to see it. It was a tiny, winged, purple Mystik.

Now he took a look at the landscape. It appeared, at present, to be rolling hills, a beautiful faerie-tale countryside. Beneath his feet sprang soft, lush grass. Not far away a golden path wound snake-like across a small bridge and into the foothills. Smoke rose in a plume on the horizon.

It was the colours that were most surprising though – the grass was a vibrant green, unlike any natural grass Azrael had ever seen, and the sky was a delicate blue, in which well-defined clouds floated. There was a gap of white between the hills and the sky. It all looked most familiar to the morph, and then he realised why.

Like a child's painting…

Now, he noticed, the smoke did not flow upwards and disperse like normal smoke, but it spiralled back in on itself. A Nidoran looked up from the grass, but it looked little like any wiry and lean Nidoran the Umbreon-morph had ever seen. It was fluffy, with lustrous fur and huge, bright eyes. Standing on its hindlegs, it wrinkled its nose at him cutely, and then it spoke.

"I'm late," it said, glancing at a pocket watch, "I'm late for a very important date!" And then it scampered away.

Azrael stared at the Mystik-pixie. She flittered a little, fluttering into the air, and pointed after the Nidoran. Having no better instruction to follow, Azrael followed, and stepped out onto the footbridge…

Suddenly he no longer stood on a footbridge, but instead in the middle of a ricketting rope bridge, spanning a deep canyon. So deep, in fact, that he could see nothing below but thick clouds, which reflecting a rainbow hue of colours. The Nidoran, sitting on a plank some distance from him, suddenly sprang into the air, unfurling long elegant wings and it was a Nidoran no more, but instead a large bird with a powerful curved neck and long bill. Its wings thrashed and a strange whistling sound emitting from them. The boards began shaking, and the ones nearest the bird's feet suddenly split open, spilling forth flowers and shoots laden with perfectly formed leaves. Grasping tightly on the rope supports, Azrael tried to step back as vines started to climb up his legs, twisting around them, pulling him downwards. Suddenly his hands were clinging to nothingness and he was falling, falling, into a rainbow hue of colours, that spun and danced around his head like animated beings.

And then he was sitting in a large puddle. Beside him sat the Nidoran, but now it was a Nidoran no longer, but a small Eevee, with the same overly cutesy features. It looked as an Eevee might look perceived through a Brooke filter. As, indeed, it was.

"You arrived," it said, "I knew you would."

"Who are you? Where's Brooke?" It took great effort to speak – his voice sounded like it was miles away.

The Eevee inclined its head, indicating a narrow burbling creek. "I like the pretty sounds," it said, "like a thousand suns laughing in joy at the world." And then it scampered away, although it did not move its legs.

Azrael opened his palm, and the Mystik-Pixie landed on it.

"Which way?" He asked.

"_Follow,"_ the Nyura replied in a strange voice both in his head and somewhere else. Sighing, Azrael clambered out of the puddle, noticing that he was dry now, and the puddle had evaporated to nothingness, and picked his way across the bright green grass, stepping amongst delicate golden flowers. Thistledown floated in the air about him, borne by the breeze so that it looked like so much snow.

The brook seemed to get further and further away. For every step he took towards it, it seemed to be a further two from him. The thistledown increased in volume, and then the Eevee was beside him again, and this time it was laughing.

"The rainbow, the rainbow." It giggled maniacally. And he reached out his hands now unable to see the brook for the thistledown, unable to hear anything but the Eevee's giggling, and the thistledown was snow, thick and cold and chilling.

Wrapping his arms close about his body, he stared upwards, where above the falling snow a beautiful arch, a spectrum of colours, rose.

"Chase the rainbow Azrael," said a voice, and it sounded like Brooke, but Brooke was not here, the Eevee was not here.

There was nothing here but he, the cold and the little purple pixie that danced about his head. Glancing downwards he saw the snow at his feet was golden. He followed it. Suddenly instead of snow, he was walking through leaves, beautiful fallen leaves. A Vaporeon materialised before him, flicking leaves at him with her tail.

And he remembered the games they used to play. Before. Before the Change, before the horror.

Before.

When the leaves tumbled around him they were red, and dripping, and blood drops, and Brooke lay before him, fully morphic, spread-eagled. There was blood between her legs, on her flat stomach, her small but wonderfully formed breasts. 

And then she was not there at all, and there was nothing but the imprint in the leaves. Like a snow angel.

Crouching down beside it, Azrael placed his hands against it, as though demanding there be something there, warmth, or life perhaps.

A laughing voice. "Can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man!"

Mystik cowered against his throat, shaking, her little pixie wings fluttering against his chest.

And then a darkness sprang before him. The big bad wolf returned home, only it wasn't a wolf, but another beast. A great black beast with eyes that burned like twilight and a golden brand upon its forehead. It opened its mouth and out flowed darkness, and the leaves fell apart, to become skeletal. The plants wilted and died, the flowers turned brown and dropped their petals.

Azrael felt a great cold growing in his heart.

"_I'm scared,"_ Mystik whispered. "_I'm scared."_

"Don't be scared," said the black beast, "I'm just your grandmother."

A hood appeared on its head, and a shawl about its shoulder, and then it was no longer a monster but a dried husk of a carcass.

The wind tore the clothing away, and blew the husk to pieces. 

"That was me," Azrael whispered. "Me?!"

"_You are her greatest fear," _Mystik replied.

"But I love her. I loved her and I still do. Can't she understand that?"

"_One cannot understand what one fears._"

"Why are you so enigmatic all of a sudden?" Azrael snapped in anger. "Give me a break here, why don't you?"

Mystik pressed herself against his chest and he knew it had not been her speaking, but Lilith, speaking through her. The child was too frightened to react and speak.

The path rolled out before him, golden amongst the fallen leaves, now skeletal. He stepped onto it, and walked along it, amongst the bare trees.

And then they were not bare trees anymore, but great, bizarre shapes. He recognised some of them immediately. A syringe, thrust into the ground, beside it a long sharp blade buried deep – a scalpel. He walked through a forest of discarded, gigantic medical paraphenalia and then something caught the corner of his eye. A flickering.

A frightened face, white and thin, with wide dark eyes. Wild matted hair framed her face, and her body was naked, thin, covered in long bloody scars. She stared at him, wild eyed and terrified.

Azrael crouched down, opening her arms to the frightened child. "Come to me," he whispered. Although he knew not why.

She took a tentative step forward and he saw the horrible condition she was in – her body bruised and battered, scarred and marred. So this, then, was Brooke's inner child?

Except that he knew it was not. He knew it was something more, something much less terrifying. It was the girl. The one whom had become a part of Brooke. She reached forth and took his hand. And then she lunged.

Her teeth had become great feline fangs, and her face was twisted into a hideous snarl. Mystik zipped out from under Azrael's shirt and into her face, suddenly shining brighter then anything Azrael had ever seen before. His eyes burned.

The girl fell back, and disappeared into darkness.

"Someone doesn't want me here," Azrael muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Thanks Mystik." 

The tiny little Mystik wrapped her arms around his finger and hugged it.

"_Of course she will resist your presence here," _the mental voice that was Mystik but was not, replied, _"you did try to claim her life. Do you think she is that forgiving?"_

It was true, of course, Azrael sighed. He loved her beyond anything, beyond even this wretched excuse for a life. But how could he make her see?

How could he make her forgive him?

He stepped back along the path and found himself at the bottom of a staircase. It rose upwards, and upwards eternally.

It was golden. He stepped onto it. At the top a small, cartoonish Vaporeon stared down at him.

"So that's the way you want to play," it said. "You can't catch me. I'm faster then thee."

Azrael ran up the steps, knowing that he should catch her. That he had to see her, hold her. The stairs slid away beneath him, and he fell. He had only gone up two steps, but he fell, and fell and fell, into a pool of frothing water.

It refracted all the colours of the rainbow.

And he was drowning. Again. Mystik flitted around his head, issuing calls of alarm, only her voice was too high to be heard. He flailed madly, but went under. And then found he could breath.

It was a strange feeling, breathing water, and Mystik, now no longer a pixie, but a tiny mermaid, swam along beside him. The waters were still every colour of the rainbow, but there was a village down here. A perfect, fairytale village.

He pushed himself towards it and found he could move with ease. Something flickered in his peripheral and he glanced up, spying a glimpse of a long, serpentine tail topped with spikes, and then it was gone.

Brooke was still tormenting him with her presence.

Bubbles started to float towards him, but he nimbly dodged them, swimming into the village. Only to find that it was empty.

In the first house he investigate was a table set for three, with three bowls, filled with a strange, sticky mixture. Some odd compulsion led him to sit upon one of the stools, only to have it break away beneath him, shattering into a thousand rose petals.

"Whose been sitting in my chair?" Came a weird and spectral voice.

Feeling oddly embarrassed, Azrael stepped away, and suddenly the petals started to animate, and merge together. They formed the shape of a bear, which clawed blindly at him. He dodged the blow nimbly and slammed into its belly, instantly the petals sprayed apart, twisting and turning in a demented tornado of pink. Azrael flung up his arms to protect himself from the multitudes, which seemed to have developed razor shape edges and cut through his clothing and fur. He felt no pain, even as the blood began to stain his fur and trickle to the ground, forming a puddle, an immense puddle.

Azrael knew a lot about death, and knew that noone, noone, could lose that much blood whilst being conscious. But logic did not apply here. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it reversed, the blood dripping upwards from the puddle, and back into him, until the floor was dry and his body unscathed.

He stepped out of the cottage, which was now a cave, a deep dark tunnel, through which a bloody stream trickled and drained. He followed it, following the flickering purple light of the now winged Mystik, who flitted along like a firefly.

And then he stood upon a beach. A beach with golden sands and littered with the broken bones of baby dolls. Across the glistening waters, a rainbow teetered on the horizon.

A singsong voice reached his ears, "she sells seashells on the seashore!" A little chibi Brooke stood there, her head and hands ill-proportioned and child-like.

"Brooke," he whispered, reaching for her.

"Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?" She crooned and suddenly was Brooke no more, but instead a great Umbreon-morph, that grew and grew. Long fangs dripped red, which fell to the ground and shattered, like glass rubies. Its hands terminated in wickedly long claws and about its shoulders, like grotesque wings or great shadows, flapped an enormous black cloak. A cloak big enough to encompass the world. It slashed at the assassin with these distorted hands, and he jumped back as they drew across his skin, leaving a trail of blood welling on his chest.

So, he could be hurt here, as the burning pain indicated.

Mystik yelped, and hid beneath his tattered cloak, which had plainly seen better days.

In a flash, Azrael's knife found its way into his hand. Long, curved blade shining with a realness beyond this place. As he brandished it, however, he suddenly realised, that like a common Farfetch'd, he was wielding a leek.

The monster Umbreon swung its cloak about, engulfing him in black, in night.

He was falling, falling through stars. There was a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. Spreading his arms, he found himself beginning to float. When he flapped them, experimentally, he began to rise, slowly, but surely. Suddenly, he was flying at the speed of light, the stars passing by in a silver-white blur, and forming images against the darkness.

An Umbreon and a Vaporeon played together, wrestling in the water. Droplets fell about their gaiety, flying off their fur in a beautiful array of colours. Cinematographers would be proud. The moonlight danced on the waters, beautiful beyond measure.

He flew past this in an eye blink and now the two were curled up together, the Vaporeon with her tail lovingly curled about him. Again, it was gone before he could see it, before he could reach out and grab it.

Another image – a Vaporeon, sobbing, and as he passed her by, she became slowly morphic and her lips formed words that although he could not hear anything, and could not lip read, he knew immediately what she was saying.

"I will never love again."

And then he fell, plummeting downwards, so quickly that as he grasped at the stars streaking past him he could feel the stickiness of their light. His heart felt as if it were tearing in twain – so fill of longing and sorrow, and desperate love was it. The blood on his chest, caused by the "wolf's" killing claws, flowed into the shape of a love heart. And then he hit the frothing waters with a mighty "SPLASH!!"

Mystik, encased in a bubble, began floating away from him. Lunging, he grabbed at her, his fingers closing about its oily wetness. There was a sensation of dragging and suddenly he was inside the bubble. Mystik seemed to have grown – either that or he had shrunk. Beneath them the broiling waters frothed and spat.

And then the bubble hit the rainbow, and shattered. Azrael grabbed at Mystik as they started to slide away. His flailing missed and she slid downwards, towards the foaming waters. Something shrieked, a truly blood-curdling sound that set one's teeth on edge, and the water was filled with twisting, turning fins, attached to long fishy bodies. A mouth filled with fangs lunged at the Nyura just as she touched the water, closing about her at the same instant that Azrael landed on its head, jamming his leek into its eye. It shrieked again, and flailed, sending him tumbling forward, grabbing Mystik on the way. He found his leek had become a knife once more, and jammed it into the surface of the rainbow, which was soft and pliant, almost like rubber. Using the knife and his claws, he slowly began ascending, Mystik clinging to his shoulders. Once his aching body reached the upper curve, going was much easier, and then he saw the end of it. It terminated in a cloud, upon which sat a bizarre castle, composed entirely of sweets. With fudge bricks, licorice trimmings, and jelly animals set into its face, it was easily the most frightening thing he had encountered. Mystik, although shy, could not resist attempting to remove a jelly gargoyle, only to have it hiss at her, flapping its brightly coloured wings. She shrieked and jumped away.

Just as Azrael approached the Tim-Tam doorstop, something lunged at him. It was a beautiful silver-white beast, looking something like a cross between a horse and a goat, and protruding from its forehead was a lengthy spiral of gold. This horn it pushed against his chest.

"Whose a-knocking at my front door?" The castle said, opening eyes rimmed in M&Ms.

"Just me," Azrael replied, as the unicorn thrust its horn through his belly. 

The pain was intense, almost blinding, and the fact that when it pulled back, drawing its beautiful weapon from the gaping hole in his stomach, worms and maggots fell instead of blood, added to his nausea at the occasion. He stared in disbelief as he bled insect larvae, lifting up his hands on which slugs and worms crawled.

"Am I really that bad inside?" He asked.

"You are worse." The castle replied.

__

"The unicorn is a symbol of purity, of innocence," Mystik said, then, "can I have some candy?"

"Would you like a sweetie little girl?" The Unicorn asked, wiping its soiled horn against the grass, which wilted and died at the touch of Azrael's impurities.

"Please," Azrael begged, "I must see Brooke!"

The castle chuckled, and the unicorn joined in. "Oh what a wonderful morning," it sang, "oh what a wonderful day."

"She wants to let you in, you know," it replied, "but she's scared."

"And you're scared!"

"We're all scared!"

More laughter.

"Please," said Mystik, "let Mr Azrael in, he's come such a long way and through the most horrid torture."

"Riddle me this, riddle me that," the castle said, and abruptly the Unicorn became a Sphinx.

"What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon and three in the evening?" The Sphinx asked.

"Too easy!" The castle chortled. "Try another one. Ask the one about the ring!"

"You brick head!" The Sphinx growled. "You told him the answer!"

"It's a person," replied Azrael, who had heard it already, "a human being."

But the Sphinx was not listening, it was attacking the face of the castle. Suddenly Mystik was opening the drawbridge, and dragging him inside.

"Now look what you've done…" The castle said behind them. "Birdbrain."

They ran up a staircase, and up it, and then up it further some more. Suddenly they were running upside down, then on a vertical angle and then there were rooms everywhere. Some were empty, some filled with nothing but dust and cobwebs and giant spiders, others contained even stranger.

A music room – piano shattered, battered form of a violin lying on the floor, forlorn. A garden, containing huge and vibrant plants, one of which appeared to be wearing a bowtie.

A Vaporeon and Umbreon, both morphic and naked, writhing together in ecstastic agony. Azrael quickly looked away. There were some parts of someone's mind that should not be touched.

__

"She has feelings for you still," Mystik said, "_but she's hides them away in hidden rooms, hidden places. You have now reached the inner sanctum of her mind._"

Here the walls dripped blood, there gold, and here, trickling down the stairs, tears.

Sensing he was close, Azrael ran through the double doors and stared in awe at the room before him.

Brooke must have viewed Labyrinth at some point in the past, because this looked almost exactly like that. There were stairs everywhere, some upside down, some inside out, at every conceivable angle and every discernible plane. Except, that in the middle of it, framed by staircases, was a great pit.

And from this shone the Rainbow.

It certainly deserved the capital R, as it was easily the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It glowed in its translucency, its aura extending beyond its borders.

And on the rainbow, sat Brooke.

She had never looked lovelier, in Azrael's rather clouded eyes. Her silver-white hair cascaded about her shoulders, framing her heart shaped face with sapphire almond-shaped eyes, and her delicate nose. Her legs were drawn against her chest, and she hugged them furiously. And she was crying. 

Her tears fell like rain, a rain that seared his skin, and seared his heart. He wanted to reach out to her, to touch her, to run his hands across her teal skin.

But he could not. He glanced at his guide, but Mystik was gone. He was alone in the inner sanctum. Feeling so heavy in heart, such a desperate, sad longing, he ran down the stairs that appeared to led to her, only to find himself upside down, even further away. And so it continued, nowhere he ran could get him close to her. And her tears, her tears continued to fall, hot against his skin, burning against his heart.

He found tears springing to his own eyes.

"I love you Brooke," he sobbed, but she did not look up, was as unresponsive as she had been in the real world. Somehow he found his way to above her. "I bleed for you, Brooke," he continued, rising his arms, down which blood, warm heart's blood, trickled, joining the rain to descend on her, staining her hair.

And then he jumped.

For a moment he was falling through infinity, then suddenly he was standing on the rainbow beside her. She stared at him blankly.

"Brooke," he said, reaching out his hands to her. "I love you and I want to help you."

She stood up and her eyes burned with rage, the mere sight of such anger made his heart bleed even further, staining his fur.

"I hate you." She said. And slapped him.

The sting hurt more then the sharpest claws, the quickest teeth. He fell back, his hands going to his cheek where the slightest pink marred his skin beneath the black fur. "I love you," he whispered. And then fell backwards.

And she spat on him, as he fell, into the dark pit from which the rainbow arced.

The saliva hit him over the heart, digging deep into his flesh with steel claws like those of a vicious beetle. He clawed at his chest, trying to free it, free the vice from his heart, but he could not.

He had not the will. He loved her. She hated him. With good reason, admittedly, he had tried to kill her, but still, that was before. Before he had known who she was.

And what of the others, the ones he had killed? They flashed before his eyes now. All of them. Lurching towards him like zombies, the Meowth prostitute, the Farfetch'd who had been driven so far past the brink that it had practically killed himself, the Venomoth beggar, the Squirtle nomad, the Kabuto hobo… All of them came towards him.

"_You killed us, we did not really want to die, we wanted to live, but you killed us."_

And he screamed, his voice echoing off the sides of the pit he had fallen into. It echoed, and echoed, and drove into his head like a sledgehammer.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, burying his face in the dirt. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" He repeated this mantra as though it were all that held him with reality.

And, in truth, he was sorry. He had not realised then what live meant. Had not realised what death meant. Although he feared death himself, he had thought they would welcome it – had not seen how even the poorest beggar, the most desperate whore, could want to cling to life, to survive. There was beauty everywhere, even in the lost forest of needles, the bottom of a bottle of cheap liquor. Something tickled his palm, and he opened it. A black rose nestled in the palm of his hand. The thorns had pricked into his palm, drawing scarlet droplets.

"I cannot bring you back," he replied, "but I swear on my own life, my own blood, that I shall never kill again, that I will seek only to restore what is right with the world."

__

"Your redemption has begun." Came a voice, although Mystik was nowhere in sight.

"And I shall remember you all, and have you live on in my memories." And they came towards him now, the zombies of those he had slain, coming towards him in the dark pit, and he opened his arms to them, welcoming them, and one by one, they entered him, the spectral spirits.

Every entry made him jerk like a puppet, and sent pain stabbing through his senses. But then they were all gone from this reality, from any reality but his own. And he knew them, knew their names, their hopes, their dreams, all they had striven for. Given there was little enough of that – many of them had been lost ones, drug addicts and starving, but there was life within the darkest rose. Such was his curse, to bear the burden of life's cut short, dream's shattered, at his hands.

And in death he had given them tenderness. They could not forget that. And then the last figure, the last zombie came into view.

It was Brooke.

He crossed his arms to her. "You are not dead," he said.

"You slayed me as surely as you slayed them," she replied. "I am dead inside because of you."

"No," he said, "you are dead inside because of Giovanni, and he is now dead outside."

"Oh?" She answered. "So you seek to drag me back?"

He reached out his hands, taking her small delicate ones in his large ones. "I ask you not for your love, Brooke, not even for your friendship, all I ask, Brooke, is that you live. That you restore yourself to you humble shell for me. That alone will be enough."

"Then," she said, "you really do not ask enough."

He bowed his head. "I ask only what you think is right."

And suddenly Mystik zipped around them, a pixie again. Her wings blurred violet. "Can we go home yet?" She whined.

Azrael stared at Brooke. She stared back, blinking. "I will not go alone," he said. "If you do not come with me, I will wander your mind until I die. Come back, and I will slay myself if that is your desire."

The Vaporeon stared at Mystik, puzzled. She plainly knew not what to do.

"If not for me," he said, "then think of the sunsets, the rainbow, and not your fake rainbow either! Think of water fights and Cassandra and Buttons and dreams. And ice cream and candy and soda." He paused. "Think of hugs, and kisses, and friendship and stars."

Brooke nodded, just once. "I still hate you," she said, but without real conviction.

"So we can go home?" Mystik asked again.

They both nodded.

And Mystik exploded in a beam of bright, vivid purple light. Suddenly Brooke and Azrael were clinging to a rope, a violet rope that was not real yet was more real then anything else they had seen. Colours, a bright spectrum of them, flashed past and suddenly Azrael was being blinded by light.

"Is everything alright?" Came a voice that seemed to surround him, but his brain eventually pinpointed it to Lilith, who was staring at him over Brooke.

"I don't know," he forced the words out. "Is she?"

Lilith stood up and leaned over Brooke, touching her on the cheek. "Child," she said softly, "it is time to awake."

And Brooke opened her eyes. "Bright," she whispered, "I saw lots of pretty lights and dancing shapes and it was all like real weird and everything, but then…' her brow furrowed and she focused on Azrael for the first time.

Azrael leaned over her and kissed her on her forehead. "Thank you Brooke," he said, "I shall leave you now, to recover." And he stood up, departing the room for the first time in days. His head felt light and hunger gnawed at his belly. He almost made it to the door when he heard a faint voice.

"Wait," Brooke whispered, and smiled at him, "come back soon and dance with me!"

And only then did he allow himself to smile.

Outside in the hallway were two students talking. One of them, an Eevee-morph, was wearing an orderly's outfit, the other one, a Nidoran girl was in common street clothes. He inclined his head at the Eevee, "tell the Doctor that Brooke has awakened."

The kid grinned. "She has?" He said happily, "that's the best news I've had all day. I'll be back in a minute Manami." And darted off, leaving the girl looking flustered.

She turned to him, "you look hungry, sir," she said politely, "perhaps you should get some lunch."

"I was just thinking that myself," he replied. Suddenly the doors swung open behind him and someone barrelled into his leg. Manami laughed.

Azrael turned and suddenly Mystik threw her arms around him. "Can I have lunch too?" She said, grinning.

He stared at her and the young Nido for a moment, then scooped down and picked her up. "Sure kiddo."

For the first time in years, in his life since the Change, Azrael finally felt complete, whole. When he returned, he would tentatively ask Brooke if she would let him court her. He would not rush her. Her scars were deep, but still, the signs were there, she still cared for him. She had let him in, after all. Had even shown him the way, until the end.

He could wait. He could wait forever.

Carrying Mystik against his hip, he waved to Manami and strode towards the cafeteria. Perhaps he would buy Brooke some fudge. Since she seemed so fond of it.

****

The End

__

So what happened next, you may ask? Do Brooke and Azrael rediscover love? How does James react upon meeting Lilith? Will Cassandra ever chose to evolve? And the answer to all of these lies in your imagination, in your heart. For although these characters, and their tales, are mine, they live on in your heads, as more then just figments of my imagination. So what happens next? Well, you decide, but for me, these chronicles have reached their end. Thank you for reading them. I certainly enjoyed telling them.

Kataryna Delilah Lemusu 


End file.
